


Seer's Conundrum

by vanitaslaughing



Series: bygone stages [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse of Authority, Amaurot (Final Fantasy XIV), Amaurotine Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, End of the World, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers Spoilers, Friends to Enemies, Friends to Lovers, Magic, Nonbinary Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Physical Abuse, Worldbuilding, before you ask: no its not hades doing the abuse but hyth is still the victim, how to NOT deal with fucked up magic powers - a guide by hythlodaeus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-27
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:08:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 33,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21980680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanitaslaughing/pseuds/vanitaslaughing
Summary: “Stay serious, Hythlodaeus. Please. For once.”He frowned beneath his mask. “In case you missed that memo, I have been for the past four years.”Hades shook his head slowly with a sigh. “Okay. Okay, we are starting off on the wrong foot—is this the part where I ask for parley? Because I am asking you for it.”Hythlodaeus closed his eyes with a long sigh. “That is something I have not heard in centuries. You, my friend and eternal bane of my existence, are dreadfully serious about this.”
Relationships: Hythlodaeus & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Hythlodaeus
Series: bygone stages [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1563955
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Seer's Conundrum

Something odd was going on in the village that evening, and no one else seemed to be able to see it. But he did—the sudden lack of lingering colour a dead giveaway that something was happening. There were still the same souls as ever, the living ones. Those sparks and pillars, those that greeted him. Some flared with an emotion of some sort, others were dimmed with the recent bout of sickness that came along with the first signs of winter.

But the rest of the village seemed to suddenly lack that colour, and he blinked a few times before looking around.

It was a gift—he was more liable to call it a curse. He _saw,_ he could not _stop_ seeing, and his normal sight suffered under it. His parents had not realised something had been sincerely off with their only son until quite suddenly he said that their neighbour had just returned to the Underworld; the familiar green vanishing. Only then did they and subsequently the entire village learn that they had a rather gifted pair of eyes in their midst. And nothing else. He was fine working with concepts, with creation, as long as there was no proper colour coordination needed.

While wherever he went the Underworld’s colours danced in his vision, the rest of the world was left monochrome. He saw their souls—but he had no way of telling what colour their eyes were. According to his parents his were red—he did not know what sort of red they were.

The sudden lack of colour in this place was shocking. But he caught wisps of passing souls that flickered about, going somewhere as if called. He had never seen that sort of behaviour before, and much like the souls that had not gone to the Underworld for some reason or another, he found himself following that invisible call.

When he finally found where those souls had gone, he could not help but stand there with a stupid expression on his face. Most of those gifted with Sight were also blessed with a means to call upon the Underworld—his intense Sight however meant that he was virtually powerless on top of seeing the world in monochrome. He had thought himself the only person in the village to be able to see souls at all, but he was proven wrong in this very moment. In the midst of that whorl of colours stood a soul so dark that it seemed almost unreal. It was a density that beggared belief; and through that darkness ran a few wisps of dark violet that made it more seem like a candle flickering contently at midnight. Doubled with the whorl of souls that answered this one’s call it was a sight so breathtaking that he knew only beholding the very Underworld itself might rival it.

Unfortunately the moment passed all too soon—he had been spotted.

The souls scattered at the flick of a surprisingly small hand, and he flinched as if he had been slapped across the face.

“Who’s there!?”

Now that the other person had been spotted, their soul seemed a lot more withdrawn. The wisps were barely visible, leaving a quivering soul so dark it almost seemed unreal in his vision. Taking a deep breath he stepped out, not wanting to cause that person any reason to attack him; it was clear that this one was gifted in ways that he was not. A possible high sorcerer of the Underworld, someone who could bend creation to their will as long as the Underworld permitted them to. He would prefer not getting his own life smothered out of him by a wary mage—there were more pleasant ways to die, morbid as that sounded. 

That person still seemed guarded but visibly relaxed when they saw him.

“My apologies,” he said into the awkward silence, a smile on his lips. “I most definitely did not mean to intrude upon your little spectacle.”

“You… you saw it.” It was not a question, but it did not sound like an observation either. It mostly sounded a little guilty, all things considered.

“And am I ever glad I did—it was quite a sight to behold, this whorl of colour of yours.”

The other one crossed their arms, a scowl on their face which he caught despite the fact their black and white features blended together now that he looked at their face properly. The two seemed to be around the same age, with him likely being just a tad older—the other one seemed a lot more withdrawn than him, however. He couldn’t exactly attribute a name to this face, seeing as a village like this one usually saw the children taught individually rather than in a group. It was an odd custom holding over from myriad years ago before the sweeping reforms from Amaurot saw the continent to its current prosperity.

“Strange, very strange. A whorl of colour? It looked all dimmed and darkened to me as they started moving.” They crossed their arms harder, the scowl deepening. “May I ask you something?”

“Go ahead—I am, after all, the one who intruded upon this.”

The other one nodded. “I have… two questions. You said you intruded upon this, but seeing as you appear to be gifted with Sight… how exactly did you find me? Not even the seeing adults generally realise I am up to something or other unless I call every soul in this place by name.”

He grinned, cocked his head to the side and raised a hand to his mouth just in case he was about to start giggling—that other one sounded so dreadfully serious they might as well have been discussing a murder. His voice clearly gave his amusement away. “When all you see even as you close your eyes are the colours of the Underworld shining, glowing and twisting you pick up on certain saturations or desaturations rather quickly, one would assume. The world in monochrome where it once shone in myriad colours is disconcerting.” 

A low hum, a tap of the foot—then the other one relaxed their shoulders a little. They did, however, keep their arms crossed. “Interesting…going back to earlier—whorl of colour. Did you see the colours individually?” 

“I rather liked how you wove the green and the violet together, even if you claim you cannot see them individually—but yes. It was a rather dazzling, dizzying view from where I was standing, though even through all that it was easy to tell you knew what you were doing. Whether you see the end result or not, it is overwhelmingly obvious that you are either insanely talented or insanely trained. Or perhaps both.”

A long, long pause. Eventually the other shooed a passing soul away with a wave of their hand and nailed him with a piercing glare. He could see that their interest had been piqued and there were some answers still burning under their tongue from the way their dark as the very night itself soul shifted and wavered about. “Who on good earth are you?” 

“That would make this three questions, and I recall you saying you had only two.”

“Don’t go playing the wise man—what’s your name?”

He grinned and bowed. “Hythlodaeus, He who sees too much for someone with as atrocious eyesight as I. And I am so bold to assume your name sounds somewhat similar to that, given that you just relaxed a tad more. 

The other one rolled their eyes—they had relaxed a little more. Indeed, their soul sparked into a surprisingly warm glow for something so utterly dark as they let out a snort. “For someone who claims they cannot see well, you sure are observant. Indeed—my name is Hades.” 

* * *

Where others would give up on a futile quest, Hades pulled ahead and beyond the reasonable limits. Given that there were no adults as keenly gifted as the two of them, they were effectively learning the ins and outs of the Underworld by themselves—and when it came to calling for things and making them do their will, Hythlodaeus was about as useful as a fish on land. He could of course comment on whatever it was that Hades was doing but there was absolutely no way of him joining in with these ridiculous experiments.

Although it seemed ridiculous to say aloud, Hythlodaeus soon came to think of Hades as perhaps the most vibrant speck of darkness on this side of the continent. Now that he knew about it, he realised how precisely he had overlooked the other for so long; he simply hadn’t considered that a soul could be as dark as that without having given way to madness and fury.

Hades meanwhile scoffed the second time they met, completely on accident this time around.

“It borders on the miraculous that I have not focused on a crimson as intensely blinding as your soul before.”

“Perhaps the living are less interesting to your vision—what is a living, ah, crimson you say, compared to the same crimson attributed to the dead?”

Hades had shaken his head back then, eyes all but shut behind his mask. “No. Yours is so bright it is distracting. How I failed to notice that before baffles me.”

“Well, I know why I overlooked yours in the meanwhile.”

After that, they seemed to run into each other more often, and eventually decided that yes, perhaps this was a budding friendship rather than merely being acquaintances. And soon after that, they decided to see if they could learn what they were capable of doing together.

Not much for Hythlodaeus, as he had always known—Hades had seemed insistent that there was something or other that he could do with vision as keen as his. Hythlodaeus eventually dispelled that with a rather blunt focus on how skewered his vision was. What Hades thought a gift and could close his eyes to, Hythlodaeus saw without a break. Even in his dreams the colours danced through the world as his physical eyes saw in monochrome. That soon took the wind out of Hades’ sails, and Hythlodaeus instead focused on helping him with whatever spells and what-not he was attempting next.

Whatever it was that Hades did, it was absolutely breathtaking. The way the world seemed to shift around him, how even souls from the very earth themselves rose to answer his call. He very soon graduated from simply creating a maelstrom of sheer energy in the air around him to carefully directing them around.

Hythlodaeus clapped as they sat in that in that clearing not far from the village, watching the souls all but spread from Hades as if they were living shadows. Whoever was foolish enough to approach this was going to find themselves ensnared in what they would likely perceive as sheer darkness. He but saw a distractingly bright patchwork of souls, all of them swirling and he swore he heard a laugh here and there.

Years had passed like that, and the children staring at one another just outside the village had become a pair of infamous troublemakers in the strangest sense in the village. Their work ethics could not be any more different—Hythlodaeus knew that most of Hades’ exhaustion stemmed from the fact he was a low energy person to begin with and his dedication to learning how to wield this gift he had been born with sapped his already low reserves completely dry. Hythlodaeus meanwhile _only_ had to deal with the fact that he saw every little thing that went on. He saw which resident souls passed by, had to deal with knowing that someone passed away as he watched their light blink out—meaning he was generally the one working as diligently as possible in an almost futile attempt to block those sights out.

Some visitors to the village from distant Amaurot seemed almost a little concerned when they saw one teenager all but dragging another one along, serene smile on his face and his eyes closed. There wasn’t all that much difference after all—he still saw where the souls were present so avoiding walking into someone was easy.

That movement seemed to catch the interest of these visitors as he hoisted Hades up a little further and murmured a “I know you’re tired, but I can’t exactly burst into your place and drag you up the stairs without acknowledging your mother, and you do know she does not like me at all, Hades” while steering around them. Their souls wavered suddenly on the edge of his vision, and uncertain dread settled in the pit of his stomach. “Hades, please.”

Amaurotian visitors were rare—and these ones stayed for more than a day, which was even rarer. There were many speculations but no one quite dared asking the visitors directly. If they were truly sent by the Convocation of Fourteen then something might have been afoot here that required proper care. The adults seemed scared of that for some reason or another.

Not that Hythlodaeus and Hades were all that concerned with what the adults thought. After resting a day and a half, Hades was the one dragging Hythlodaeus out before sunrise even. Perhaps it was a curse rather than a blessing that while Hades’ mother seemed less than pleased about the resident strange boy being her son’s best friend, his own caretakers were thrilled that the resident strange boy had befriended someone.

He yawned loudly as Hades tugged him along; something or other about having thought about it while resting and realising something. Hythlodaeus shivered slightly by the time he was sitting under a tree in the autumn fog in their usual place. Autumn was a strange season—it seemed that souls became restless that time of the year. There were plenty of festivals all across the continent that celebrated something or other relating to the passed and the remaining souls and the Underworld itself. And this morning it seemed like there was an unusual amount of activity about.

“You are absolutely certain this is a good idea,” he mumbled before he covered his mouth just in time for another yawn, mask askew and eyes completely unfocused. Hades’ soul remained a solid pillar of darkness with agitated violet wisps whisking through the dark. He seemed excited about something.

“Whether it is a good idea or not will reveal itself to me now. But the theory has solid grounds—we have been over the technicals of this, have we?”

Hythlodaeus shrugged and blinked tears out of his eyes. “You were rambling as you dragged me out, but I did get the basic theory. You mean to siphon energy and strengthen your own… whatever… and… Mhm.” One more yawn. It was hard pretending to be awake, even as the cold seeped through his robes and into his very bones. Hades was going on a tirade, the sudden spark of energy from him not all that unusual. Whenever he was focused on something not even the fast decay of his energies kept him from trying until complete and utter exhaustion. A single focus and he would do everything to see it through. Dangerous, but also very amusing at times.

Still, being awake at these times was inhuman even for someone who cared little about sleep like Hythlodaeus. Shivering, he tried to crack his eyes open but all that happened was him growing colder.

The colours all around were twisting and churning, nudged and pulled on by Hades after a while. It wasn’t all that unusual, but there was a swirl that caught Hythlodaeus’ attention after another moment passed. Something about that soul in particular changed when Hades pulled on it to make it do whatever it was that he was trying to do. A displeased discolouration that others might not notice in that torrent of souls all around Hades. He sat up straight, chilled to the bones as he watched that discolouration spread. Slowly, steadily, then all at once like a storm at sea.

For all his time spent unable to not see souls, he certainly wished he could close his eyes to this. Was this what it it would look like to others when they had the gift of Sight and watched Hades mess with the resonant souls? But no—something here was seriously off; the discolouration too unreal to be a natural response to sorcery. In the middle of all those colours normally his soul stood out like a black pillar, but right now Hythlodaeus could not tell anything apart. What had previously been dimmer colours had since turned into a whirl of utter, devastating black. A familiar, comforting darkness, but one that terrified him right now.

Hythlodaeus slowly struggled to his feet, drowsiness and coldness betraying how tired he still was despite the fact he also managed to be sharply focused right now. “Hades, I—I don’t quite think you… should continue—”

He couldn’t tell where his friend was any longer. As far as his sight was concerned this entire existence in front of him was Hades right now, unnaturally tall and terrifying to look at. But at the same time it was just as breathtaking as his friend’s almost casual control over the Underworld. Rather than every colour individually it was Hades, overwhelmingly Hades in a way that he had never seen before. And despite it being an all-around massive splotch of darkness, he finally saw sparks of different colour just as violet danced across his own soul. Where the swirl of colours had always been impressive, there was a beauty to this that compared to nothing because there weren’t the words to explain what it was. 

Before he could say another word, however, a new colour joined that fray. Just at the edge of his vision, and the massive dark shade moved ever so slightly. No one ever came by this place from the village, seeing as this was generally known as the prowling grounds of the children. Since Hades and Hythlodaeus were currently the only teenagers and the only other children were not old enough to wander about on their own, it had to be an adult of some sort.

An adult who was clearly marvelling at this spectacle just as Hythlodaeus had been a moment ago.

There were no others with the Sight in this place. Meaning that it had to be one of the strangers from Amaurot.

Indeed, they started clapping slightly, all but startling Hades and leaving the massive black phantasm to collapse in on itself. Hythlodaeus darted forward to keep his friend from falling over the moment the souls scattered—Hades let out an almost offended, exhausted huff. He was burning up in Hythlodaeus’ cold arms, and he made certain he stood between that adult and Hades.

Something about the mask that this stranger wore was strange. It was hard to tell, seeing as it was merely a strange dark grey to him—but normally Amaurotian masks were stark white, just as the ones here in this village were a light grey. The same white grey that was on their faces. This was most definitely not a normal Amaurotian visitor. They studied him for a moment, then clasped their hands together.

“I do apologise for intruding upon this. Rarely ever does one come across a sorcerer in the outer villages, especially at this time of the year by this part of the coast—imagine my surprise when all colour drained from the village in the earliest hours of the morning, where souls normally shine the brightest.”

Hythlodaeus merely fastened his grip on Hades, lips quivering and shaking slightly. Hades made a soft noise of discomfort, but Hythlodaeus was still trying to parse what was going on here. The adult’s soul flickered in amusement, although after a few more heartbeats it quivered in confusion.

In the meanwhile, Hades started struggling against Hythlodaeus’ iron grip weakly. “Hyth… Hyth, let go…!”

He made a point in scowling at the stranger harder, bristling despite how cold he still was even holding Hades like that. In return the stranger’s soul flickered more, confusion now dimming its light a little. Why on earth was this person expecting him to not startle and protect the source of their interest when their intent was not that easy to read? There was something going on here that confused and upset him, and he was not entirely able to figure out what it was. The mask was odd, yes, but for all he knew was that they were from the other continent. Visitors from the other continent were permitted to wear whatever they damn well pleased since it linked into their heritage just as much as wearing masks was the commonly shared point on this continent.

Hades managed to wrench himself out and shoved Hythlodaeus after a minute or so more in silence—and immediately bowed to the adult. “I apologise for my friend’s behaviour—anyone else would have noticed it, but alas. As distinct as it appears to us, to him your mask is merely grey instead of red.”

He looked from the stranger to Hades and back again—Hades’ soul still flared and sparked, but this time with a little almost demure embarrassment. The stranger meanwhile had their almost violently green soul return to its proper shade, understanding running through it as the dimness vanished.

“Ahaha. There truly is no reason to apologise for this—‘tis rare for even one bearing my title to wind up this far from Amaurot. But full glad am I that I did; that was an enchanting show of skill. Though way beyond what one of your age should be capable of.”

Hythlodaeus caught the still amused spark of their soul change ever so slightly with intent. He let out a growl and once more moved between that person and Hades—member of Amaurot’s Convocation of Fourteen or not, he did not like this the slightest. This in turn made the stranger tilt their head slightly.

“Though it would seem that I come not only across one especially gifted child, but two. I cannot think of even one person in Amaurot capable of reading me so keenly—unless, of course, you are not looking at me at all but instead at my very soul.”

He left out a huff. “Flattery will not pepper any favour with me, if that is what you are attempting; many a times has my friend there tried and failed. You said something about his skill being beyond what someone of his age should be able to achieve and your intent was clearly visible to me. State what it is that clearly burns under your tongue.”

The stranger raised a hand to their face and let out a soft laugh. “Duly noted, even if a tad rude to an adult you do not know, wouldn’t you agree? But yes, I do have a question, one that extends to the both of you. I am Mnemosyne of the Convocation of Fourteen, and I would like to extend an invitation to Amaurot to the both of you. It is indeed exceedingly rare for talents such as yours to crop up in this part of the coastline—and that rareness makes them both a blessing and a curse. Records tell of children so aligned with the Underworld that they forgot they were living beings, others tell of entire coastlines being uninhabitable because one child called upon something that they should not have. And make no mistake—there is no ill intent behind what you are doing, but watching this very spectacle has both instilled awe and fear in my heart. Fear for the both of you.”

Hades said that this statement made no sense whatsoever, but Hythlodaeus bit his lip. Both awe and fear was something that he had felt too while staring at it—and hearing Hades say that it was nonsense only confirmed that something had been going extremely wrong or extremely right in the worst possible way.

Mnemosyne nodded where they stood, the smile on their face extremely calm for a soul that was quite literally sparking violently at this point. Perhaps he had been a little too straightforward with wanting an answer out of them.

“Of course, such an invitation will have to be forwarded to your caretakers as well, seeing as you are below a hundred years.”

* * *

Amaurot was a distant dream for a non-insignificant amount of people who lived by the coast. There were closer settlements, easier ways to get into it—but for them in their village, Amaurot was as far as it could be and as unreachable as the paradise that some mountain tribes believed in. Hades seemed a natural fit, immediately throwing himself into his studies under a proper sorcerer with a vigour that seemed… unbefitting.

Hythlodaeus spent the first decade in the city in a daze. By the time his eyes finally adjusted to how sterile the buildings were in an attempt to keep out most of the less powerful souls, he was technically considered an adult by Amaurotian law, and nigh immediately found himself thrown into the usual procedure that every child born and raised in this city looked forward to. For him, however, it was an agonising process—they were merely trying to find a place where his skills would be worked to their full extent without overexerting him, but nothing quite seemed to work. Every other possible position had him struggle under how dense and choked the city streets were with ambient souls and residue other energy from how concentrated the masters of creation in this place were. The other possible solutions left him choking and rubbing his eyes inside a building that made his already atrocious sight go worse. Not even getting lenses fitted into his mask while Hades went through the paperwork to see him admitted to whatever courses that piqued his interest. Mnemosyne had left them in the care of the sorcerer that had been teaching Hades for the last few years, but even they seemed puzzled by how intensely impossible it seemed to find anything for the normally so compliant and polite Hythlodaeus.

He had half a mind to ask to be sent back to the coast, missing the quiet solitude and the sea breeze more with every failed attempt that made him feel like he was a failure to begin with.

Just as he was about to suggest that, however, heartbroken and aware that anyone looking at him would see a soul clouded with misery, a fairly soft voice cut through the heavy cloud that seemed to make his vision even worse.

“Ah. Young Hythlodaeus, was it not?”

He turned, dazed as before—but now there was a rather solid green with red lines running through it in his vision. “Indeed it is, Esteemed Mnemosyne.”

The man let out a soft laugh. “I had heard that one of the two I invited to Amaurot was surprisingly hard to fit into any sort of work, but truth be told I would have assumed your friend Hades to be the one.”

“You are most certainly not the first person to claim that. But alas, his work ethic all aside this is precisely what he always wanted.”

Mnemosyne nodded, a hand on his chin and a dry smile on his features. “I had been wondering about that for a while. Everyone involved seemed thrilled at the prospect of having their child or themselves going to Amaurot. The only hesitation I sensed was from your side—come, walk with me for a while. You are a citizen of Amaurot and as the one of the Convocation whose title dictates they listen to the citizenry it would be my pleasure to see if there is a solution for what troubles you.”

Between breaking down and begging to be sent _home_ and walking with this person he had partially to blame for this situation, Hythlodaeus chose the lesser evil and wordlessly followed the man. Even though he was the age to be considered an adult he remained much shorter—most of their kind did not reach their full height until they turned half a millennium. Considering how each and every soul in Amaurot looked the same with their black robes and white masks, they could have gotten away with looking like mentor and student—were it not for the red mask that adorned Mnemosyne’s face. What surprised Hythlodaeus the most as he walked with the man however was the fact that most people paid no attention to the member of the Convocation. What had been a big deal back at home seemed a common occurrence here in Amaurot.

After talking about the weather for a while and what it implied for the city and the surrounding areas to which Hythlodaeus politely responded, Mnemosyne stopped and raised a hand to his face. It almost seemed as if he was chewing on his finger for a split moment as he assessed the situation.

“Curiouser and curiouser. You claim that the others have had issues sending you to a place to learn where you can apply your strengths—those are the reports I also initially received. Yet even while you are merely trying to be polite, you more than once correctly made a suggestion or two to accommodate the weather changes in the region without knowing the lay of the land. If it were merely hard to see you into a proper learning position, why has not a single soul suggested studying at Anyder or seeing you entrusted to the Bureau of the Architect? Most harder to place young ones bloom in one of Anyder’s fields or very quickly realise that they loathe working with Concepts.”

Hythlodaeus shook his head slightly and tugged the hood further down. Of course both had been suggested and he had declined both after the initial mishaps. Buildings in Amaurot were still buildings in Amaurot, pristinely built and eloquent in ways that were beyond him—and so very sterile that he felt he was choking in them.

“Would that it were so easy, but alas I fear your suggestions very much tie into the issues I have been struggling with and what makes me so hard to place,” he whispered and turned to look towards the afternoon sun. “You called it a blessing as much as a curse, and I did not quite realise what it truly meant until I came here. Marvel of architecture that it is, I am afraid that my sight and Amaurot simply do not mesh.”

Mnemosyne tilted his head a little, turning to look into the same direction that Hythlodaeus was still facing. A heartbeat passed like that in silence, then a small noise of understanding escaped the Auditor.

“Right, right. Your Sight—so keen that you notice even the slightest human errors made by past Architects and suffer under effects of our buildings being built in a way that keeps errant souls from merging with any sort of Creation. You rely on Creation a lot less in the outer settlements and therefore do not care about the Underworld’s errant souls, but in a city as vast as this where Concepts are brought into this world in a staggering number every passing bell it is ill advised to leave enough room for more than the most powerful errant souls. So we ward the buildings—and the streets are choked with what you likely perceive as an overwhelming mass of energy while the insides of buildings leave you dazed and reliant on your monochrome view of the living world. Is that the core of the issue?”

Hythlodaeus crossed his arms and shuddered slightly. Apparently that was enough confirmation for the Auditor, who let out a light hum as he adjusted his mask.

“I should raise that topic with Emet-Selch at the Hall of Rhetoric one of these days, but she alas refuses me time and time again.” Mnemosyne exhaled with an annoyed grumble before smiling—a smile that sparked in his very soul. Intent, again, and Hythlodaeus crossed his arms harder. “I see now, however. The city threatens to swallow you whole as it threatens to do with every soul incapable of adapting, but in your case the adaption issue stems from something you have no control over. It would take at least a century or three for you to fully adapt to Amaurot, and that is assuming you do not go completely blind from the constant switch between sterile monochrome and the full colour of the Underworld.”

He bit back a comment—he did not mind the sterile monochrome. He had never minded it, seeing as he had been born with it. Most people both back at home and here in Amaurot saw it as something that held him back, and Mnemosyne’s words suggested that the man thought the same. The only person who not once commented on it being something that would make him weaker or worse than others had been Hades—Hades who had tried to teach Hythlodaeus even though they both knew that would have been akin to planting delicate fruit on salted earth.

“It has been quite a while since last someone with that keen a Sight resided within Amaurot—I think they departed for the other continent five score millennia ago and never returned. But—and that I promise you, young Hythlodaeus—I will do my utmost to ensure your continued and comfortable stay in this city. It was, after all, I who invited you and your friend to this place.”

There it was again.

Intent.

But he had no idea how to read it, seeing as it sparked red within that green and red soul of the Auditor.

Thus he nodded slowly, permitting himself to feel at least a little relief—as much as he struggled in the city, he did not want to leave Hades behind.

* * *

“Excuse me?”

He looked up—and nearly startled away. This was not someone he knew, but the fact that they were holding a rather heavy-looking bag gave them away as a student of Anyder much like Hades was. It was their soul that startled him, however. Most souls were solid colours, usually woven together with one or two others in strange patterns that were unique to every single person. The same soul never occurred twice, and once the person bearing it died it meant that the soul was gone forever, returned to the Underworld whence it game. The lingering ones were rarer or limited to being those of animals, with their strengths varying greatly.

Hythlodaeus had never beheld a soul that shimmered with so many colours that it was hard to place a main colour. It playfully flickered in his vision, shifting so rapidly that he had no word other for it than ‘iridescent’. 

He realised he had been staring and quickly coughed into his hand. “Y-Yes? How can I help you?”

“Hythlodaeus, right? I’ve seen you out and about with Hades—I’m looking for him. Would you mind telling me where he is?”

He had spent most of the day in the Bureau of the Architect, following Mnemosyne around as he explained what that Bureau in particular did and how the Architect’s work and the Auditor’s overall duties linked so closely together that both positions required to at least neutrality between both Emet-Selch and Mnemosyne. While they still had not found anything that did not immediately invoke a skull-splitting migraine, most of Amaurot had gotten used to him following Mnemosyne around for the past half century. He himself had long since gotten used to merely following where the man’s duties took him as long as it was a reasonably short distance from Amaurot. 

“Truth be told, I have not seen him all day,” he admitted after a moment of silence. The person with the shimmering soul tilted their head with a weary sigh as they closed their eyes.

“Brilliant. The very moment I need him and he vanishes.”

“If there is one thing he is reliable at, then it is how reliably he stages a vanishing act when you truly need him,” Hythlodaeus said dryly and the newcomer barked out a laugh.

“True, true. Would you mind helping me find him? I _really_ need to talk to him about our latest project. Not because it is bad or anything—his contributions were so brilliant in fact that I feel like I barely contributed to its construction, and the last thing I wish to appear as is a slacker next to the guy who sleeps through lectures.”

He nodded and stretched. This park was a surprisingly nice spot for a late afternoon nap—Hades had been right in that regard. The newcomer offered him a hand and he gratefully accepted it as they pulled him up.

“Oh! I’m sure you gathered, but I am currently Hades’ course partner in architectural creation theory. I doubt he ever mentioned me, so let me introduce myself now that I am demanding your time for school-related nonsense—Persephone of Amaurot, at your service.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Persephone.”

* * *

Compared to the child who ran out of energy at his earliest convenience and the child whose diligence saw him able to run from one end of the earth to the other, they now had seemingly switched positions. Control over his powers granted Hades energy reserves that seemed to be as vast as the sea beyond the cliff their village had been built upon, whereas Hythlodaeus soon found that even while it was the only place that worked for him and his Sight, he was not meant to run about as much as the Auditor did. The people saw him as Mnemosyne’s student now—for better or worse.

Most would think for the better, but it was rather clear that this was not going to be a final decision. At the very least it did not feel right for him to be running around so much; as much as he enjoyed _seeing_ parts of Amaurot where buildings were not as sterile as they were in this part, he longed for those evenings where neither he nor Hades exchanged any words and merely spent the time quietly sitting next to each other.

At some point Hades had started messing with something, had nudged Hythlodaeus gently and pointed to the wall. “You may think this showing off, but the buildings are nowhere near as sterile as they appear. Watch.”

Hythlodaeus blinked, watched the energy in the room suddenly change. From the child who had stood outside the village and let his own soul bleeding into the array of spirits around him—a very dangerous thing to do, seeing as it left him vulnerable to possession by a malevolent entity—he gone and become a sorcerer-in-training who had long since surpassed most other young adults in their age bracket. He almost felt a little inadequate next to Hades, but at that point in time he was enthralled by how everything in the room had seemed to pulsate. Hades merely called for them, but some whisking lights flitted about the room after that; an impressive feat by all means. 

After that, on occasion, Hythlodaeus found himself beset by flickering lights that all but oozed black and violet for a moment and then returned to their previous colour the very moment he entered the apartment, and every time he saw Hades raising a hand from the couch he usually lay on. It was… routine, in a sense. A place to return to, to the point that he stopped longing for their birthplace by the sea and instead started seeing Amaurot as their shared home. Hells, where he would have shied away and retreated to his room before, he eventually found himself joining in whenever Persephone was over when they worked on something or other related to the many, many courses they wound up sharing. Hythlodaeus had merely dryly pointed out that both of them had failed to inform him that they shared a little more than one subject—Persephone turned bright red in embarrassment, and Hades threw his pen at him. 

He proceeded to invite himself to their study sessions, with both of them usually pointing out that he would likely thrive at Anyder. He always politely declined, stating that it was much easier to poke fun at their sleep-deprived mistakes when he was the one awake in this equation. In return they of course started poking fun at him whenever he returned absolutely drained. Never maliciously—the one time Hades was too biting, Persephone immediately kicked his foot and apologised to Hythlodaeus. 

It was one of the days where Persephone was not present, however, their latest presentation a matrix of some definition that he had never properly asked about. All he knew was the fact that it apparently had earned the two of them rather impressive grades and the interest of the bloody Convocation; Mnemosyne had said that he would have never believed both the kids from somewhere on the outer edges of the continent would thrive in Amaurot like this. Hythlodaeus had returned home first, hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights and merely collapsed on the couch not sure whether to laugh or cry. He was exhausted after a day spent all but running around one of the lower districts inquiring after the public opinion on a new upper district and the elevator and stairs that would need to be built in that lower district to ensure that people got around properly. The Auditor asked a question and listened to the answer, noted down complaints and concerns as well as positive reactions. But for a public opinion to properly manifest, Mnemosyne needed to talk. A lot.

For all their praise, he still felt out of place. Most people likely saw him as a child taken under Mnemosyne’s wings rather than the adult without a clue what to do with himself. Perhaps Hades and Persephone had a point, but it felt so utterly wrong. He didn’t want to study for half an eternity. He learned better with trying things out, especially in an environment as wildly diverse as Amaurot. It were these moments where he missed the coast again, the Underworld ever present by the sea as opposed to it being everywhere but the buildings here. The first 91 years of his life he had spent there—and now he had spent 452 in Amaurot. How on earth did someone miss something they barely remembered, going by a likely glorified version of what had once been?

He didn’t even notice when Hades returned. He was still on that couch, arm thrown over his face and his mask placed on the table in front of him. That was another thing that he found passing strange; even inside most people seemed to keep these on when they had someone not of their family over. Back on the coast the mask came off the moment one entered a room unless it was a special thing; Mnemosyne had not taken his off when he talked to Hythlodaeus’ mother about the prospect of having her son moved to Amaurot alongside Hades to teach them.

Persephone had merely commented on the fact that they were interested in seeing those not-pristine white masks people on the coast wore for themself, stating that the white of Amaurot was rather stark and that they were surprised that the two of them hadn’t kept the grey ones. 

“Especially with Hythlodaeus’ eyes. That red is vibrant behind the white mask; it would not stand out so much if you still wore grey.”

People said that red eyes like his were a sign of the Underworld having woven itself into a soul. A rare thing—a thing that stood out, when all he did was desperately wish he could stop standing out. It differentiated him from other proper sorcerers too, all of them with eyes of amber. But where amber eyes of any shade were a welcome sight and surprisingly common here in Amaurot, red eyes of any shade were unheard of. Thus, normally when he was out in the streets he pulled his hood down further so the red did not stand out as much; several people had voiced discomfort with him even passing a glance over them because of how strange that shade of red was. He had had half a mind to waltz up to the Bureau of the Architect to submit a concept idea of something that could mask or change that colour while he was out in the city—Persephone had stopped him with a frown on their face and asked why in the Underworld’s name he would do something so idiotic to his eyes. 

He just wanted to stop standing out like a sore thumb. Not that he said that much whenever Persephone frowned at him fiddling with his mask after that confession. He had a feeling that Mnemosyne knew, however.

Hades moved about, unbeknownst to him. Said things and received no answer in return.

A while passed like that, until finally Hythlodaeus let out a surprised and slightly terrified yelp when suddenly he found his upper body hoisted up by something. As graceless and pragmatic as ever, Hades sat down on the couch and Hythlodaeus found himself staring up into his friend’s face.

“Welcome back to the living, I presume.”

“Was there truly no other way—“

“Hyth, I broke a plate to get your attention and you did not so much bat an eyelash.”

He blinked a few times, and Hades let out a soft laugh. “A jest, then?”

“Oh no, I very much broke a plate, though not to catch your attention. It did, however, bring how far gone you were to my attention. I had assumed you asleep but you have always been a light sleeper—so that plate breaking certainly clued me in on something. What is it that bothers you so much that you fail to chew me out verbally?”

Hades… seemed to be in an unusually good mood—which made of a crass contrast to how bleak the world surrounding Hythlodaeus felt right now. He grumbled, suddenly all the more aware of Hades having all but put his head in his lap. Not that it was uncomfortable; it seemed an awkward thing to do, especially for someone who shied away from physical contact as much as Hades did. It was best not to question it, however, he knew his friend rarely reacted well to poor attempts at changing the subject. 

And the subject, for better or worse, was the way he felt.

He sat up properly. Now that the awkward growing phases had ended, Hythlodaeus had still wound up the taller of the two. Much to Hades’ displeasure, seeing as Persephone was taller than him as well; not that it mattered with him being the sole sorcerer in their merry group.

There it was again, that harp sting of feeling like he did not belong. Hades was well on his route to becoming a proper sorcerer, Persephone seemed content playing with concepts to a degree that made even Lahabrea and Emet-Selch stop to ask them what on good earth was going on with this or that matrix. Hythlodaeus kept floating, like a soul without a reason or purpose. Those that these walls were built to keep out, seeing as they more often than not breathed life into Creations. A dangerous game to play, letting souls take control of anything other than the body they were born with.

Hades closed his eyes and crossed his arms with a low hum. It meant that he understood the long, dreary silence. “I understand now, I think.”

Only one person in Amaurot could read him like that—the others were wary around those red eyes that pierced through even the most guarded souls, those red eyes that saw everything even when he so desperately wished they did not. Hades’ soul twisted a little, a far cry from the normally playful flickers it had started doing in the last 100 years whenever they were home alone. It was clearly him signalling that he knew Hythlodaeus was watching, but this twist seemed… subconscious.

“You overthink your place in this city.”

He deflated a little as he breathed out. Damn that Hades and getting things right—yet never seeing the full picture at the same time. He knew it was wiser to remain silent.

“If there is something I realised in the past years we have spent in Amaurot, well. They do get their young started on working out something for themselves early, and everyone who wishes to gets a place to apply themselves. What is it that you want to do? And do not think about what others would deem worthwhile. Hells, even what you would perceive to be my opinion is irrelevant.”

Hythlodaeus folded his hands in his lap and tried to keep himself from shaking his head.

“What is it that I want to do?” A deep breath. A slow exhale. “If I knew that, I would tell you. But I cannot. I want to return to the shore, back to the village we were born in one evening. The next I sit about pondering on the slow decay of memories and the inevitable idolisation of bygone days. I feel like I have lived millennia when in truth I have not yet lost count of how many years I have been alive—unlike the oldest residents of Amaurot. Yet I talk like them, and everywhere I turn my eyes I cannot _close_ them. Not like you. I see intent, ill and good, wherever I go. I know when people are lying with smiles on their faces, I know when people are on the verge of breaking while acting out as if they are merely mad. Whatever faces and masks can conceal, souls give away freely. You belong here—I do not. That is the difference between a sorcerer and someone who merely sees.” There was that twist again, familiar and comforting black and violet collapsing in on itself for but a split moment. It made his heart ache as he watched it because he knew what he saw was anguish. Anguish that Hades’ eyes and face did not betray. “I know for a fact that you are hurt by my words, Hades.”

The anguish turned into something else that he could not quite place. Hades merely raised an eyebrow.

“Hmm. Let us assume I am hurt. What did your perception tell you I was feeling?”

He shrugged weakly. The last thing he wanted was to alienate one of three people who didn’t immediately flinch away from what Persephone jokingly referred to as piercing stare. The same piercing stare that had lingered on them and their undoubtedly breathtaking soul for a moment too long.

“Anguish.”

“What else?”

He gestured vaguely. “It seemed rather raw, but other than that I cannot tell.”

Hades leaned back and closed his eyes. “It was anguish, yes, but not because of what you said hurting me. If you had spoken up sooner about this, perhaps I could have helped you. The anguish was not because of your words—the anguish was for how you truly felt.” There was a new twist to his soul, this time oddly reminding him of when they were children and he first beheld what Hades had always been able to do. That gentle control over the Underworld, how it so very lovingly answered his call. Whatever this was supposed to mean, it was clear that Hades was doing this deliberately, however. There was no way it was not. “But I believe that there is a solution to your issue. And it is clear I am not the first person to see it for what it was. Hythlodaeus, I believe that Esteemed Mnemosyne is indeed trying to take you on as an apprentice—because he busies himself dealing with people as his title demands. By forcing you to interact with people, I believe he is trying to teach you how to stop seeing your Sight as a burden. Alas… not with much success.”

Hythlodaeus stood up—jumped to his feet, more like—and started pacing. “The line between a gift and a burden is much thinner than you would believe it to be, and given that yours very much is a gift and mine very clearly is a burden, I doubt you would understand.” Hells, he reached for his mask and rammed it back into his face, left it as askew as it was in hope to hide the frustrated tears welling up in his eyes. That accursed white mask that drew more attention to his accursed eyes as Persephone had put it. “I have no desire to know that someone is approaching me with an ill-defined _intent. Esteemed Mnemosyne_ did that back when we were children. He did it again once it became clear that I was not going to work well in any environment no matter how much I wanted to! The people act friendly, but I can _see_ how they truly feel about things. I read things that I should not be able to read—even the more volatile verbal opposition to the Architect’s latest design is superficial; the people love her addition to the city! Yet overwhelmingly the public voice speaks negatively; negative to the point that _Esteemed Mnemosyne_ is considering bringing the issue up at the Hall of Rhetoric should he catch the Architect or the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect! I am _so sick_ of this!”

He let his arms drop the moment that Hades also got up. The other’s voice was surprisingly soft when he asked a simple, rather disarming question.

“And what makes you think that this issue will vanish the moment you return to our birthplace?”

Hythlodaeus stood there, frozen, upright.

Hades merely shook his head. “Your Sight will not change the moment you return to the coast. I cannot promise you it will be better here, better there. All I can do is apologise. Apologise from the bottom of my heart for failing to see how troubled you were, and apologise to Persephone who saw it so clearly even without Sight. Apologise and swear to you that I will do my utmost to make up for this. I will, Hythlodaeus. There are plenty of sorcerers with better Sight than I, all of them paling in comparison to yours—but perhaps they can offer you more than traversing the city running yourself ragged following Mnemosyne.” 

He very desperately wanted to say something, anything. He stared at Hades even as his entire body started shaking. Outside, the world was awash with colours that any other person his age should never have known had they been born with the same eyes as his. He had stared into mirrors to try and figure out what was wrong with red eyes, but all he ever saw in the mirror was grey. Grey, black and white, inside these horribly sterile buildings. Monochrome that Hades had tried to break by calling little spirits in and out of this apartment and left them to their own devices for a while. 

Hades moved when Hythlodaeus didn’t, instead closing some distance between them and reached for the still askew mask to gently remove it.

“Only if you want to, of course. If you still wish to return to the shore… I will not stop you.”

He wasn’t sure.

“Truth be told, I would merely follow you. Everything this city has given me amounts to nothing compared to you always being there, somehow. Even if you feel like breaking yourself. You were the only person I could truly depend on from the moment we left our birthplace behind, and it is high time I returned that sentiment, Hythlodaeus.”

“I… I would not want you to give up the place you carved out for yourself—“

“What good would it do me knowing you are on the other end of the continent? You refused it when we were children, claimed that you had no powers whatsoever—but perhaps it is time we went to make certain that you truly are not material for a sorcerer. And even then; with sight as sharp as yours, who knows what else you could do. And I, blind selfish fool that I have been, will devote my energy to that.”

Once more tears welled up in his eyes, but this time he moved. Forwards, to throw his arms around his best friend. His family. He buried his face in Hades’ shoulder.

“One would hope not… at the expense of your dedication to the academy. Persephone would shear you bald like a sheep if you suddenly became even more tired than usual.”

“Oh, shut it. Between the two of you I would go bald long before a noticeable drop in our grades would occur. Besides—what are grades compared to my family?”

Hythlodaeus choked back a rather embarrassing sob that threatened to escape him and instead hiccuped out a strangled-sounding “Thank you”.

* * *

Blessing and burden.

He learned rather quickly that there was a definite difference between people like Hades who were gifted with control over the Underworld and the rest of Amaurot. It was a matter of perspective—perspective that was heavily skewered towards seeing Amaurot as flawless when it indeed had many flawed corners and little inconsistencies here and there.

While all the teaching in the world did not make him capable of suddenly shutting out the Underworld, a measure of control was taught to him so being outside was no longer overwhelming. The people finally got used to his presence, even if his red eyes still allegedly shone oddly from behind the mask. And after a millennium he suddenly found himself rather interested in concepts as a whole.

Whatever free minute he had he spent at the Bureau of the Architect, having befriended most of the staff working the counters by now. At first they had indulged his curiosity when Mnemosyne had left him sitting in the foyer while he went to speak to Emet-Selch, had answered any questions as the daytime hours quickly turned into evening hours and still no trace of Mnemosyne. Hells, one of them even handed him something to work with when public hours were over and he was still waiting for a dismissal. By the time something happened, Hythlodaeus had found himself sitting amongst a flock of rather peculiar blue birds, every single one ever so slightly adjusted.

It was not Mnemosyne who came down into the foyer close to midnight—it was Emet-Selch, her jaw and fists clenched. That tension immediately vanished when she saw that there was a person other than a handful of her employees and fellows around. 

Hythlodaeus hurriedly started banishing the birds back into aether, most of them trilling and chirping excitedly until none remained and he jumped to his feet to bow to Emet-Selch. By then she had raised a hand to her chin and seemed to be trying to make sense of what she had just seen, then nodded at him.

“I am afraid that Mnemosyne is long gone; through the back door most likely. Hythlodaeus, correct?”

“Yes.”

It was exceedingly rare to run into members of the Convocation even at their own Bureaus and whatever projects they had devoted themselves to. The easiest two to meet were Mnemosyne whose entire purpose as Auditor was to speak to the general population and Lahabrea, whose purpose as Speaker had long since turned into that of one who taught at Anyder. Persephone, having grown up in Amaurot and knowing quite a lot of people, very quickly had revealed that they had made a list of the current Convocation and which ones might as well have been a collective hallucination and the population would be none the wiser. 

The current Emet-Selch was ranked rather high on the elusive list. The only people even higher than that were Fandaniel and Elidibus—the latter on a diplomatic mission that had lasted a millennium over on the other continent and recently returned to Amaurot, whereas the former avoided the public gaze entirely somehow. He had never really heard people talk about Emet-Selch unless it was related to the latest expansion or change that she submitted and that Mnemosyne went to check out for her. From the way Mnemosyne talked about her, he had half expected her to be a gloomy, dreary person to be around, but all the Architect did was shoot him another glance before a smile appeared on her face. She was… surprisingly small for an Amaurotine of her age. Hythlodaeus towered over the Architect, yet somehow felt like the smallest thing in the room now that the employees were moving into the proper offices for the night shift. 

“Alas, you cannot quite wait here until sunrise. Come—I am the one to close the doors as late night begins.”

He nodded quietly and followed her; her stride was surprisingly confident and he found himself waiting to be dismissed while she dealt with the doors. He had a solid enough grasp on what went on in Amaurot to know that the Bureau of the Architect housed some creations and matrices that could be disastrous if left in the wrong hands, though compared to what was housed in Akademia Anyder it seemed almost a paltry collection. Which… would explain the seal she placed on the doors.

Emet-Selch tapped her foot against the door twice and then turned around so suddenly that he flinched.

“I see my Bureau has seen to keeping you busy while you waited. How did you like working with these birds?”

He blinked a few times, confused by the almost cheeky tone her voice had now. Hythlodaeus tilted his head in confusion. “I… did not exactly work with them. They asked me to see if there were any grave errors in these, and I obliged, seeing as I was imposing myself into their workspace. But your question is likely related to the process of making a matrix do what it is supposed to—on that end, they worked perfectly fine. Some designs were a little more finicky than others, but overall I would say even a child seeing to be a novice creationist could work with these.”

Emet-Selch nodded. “That was my assessment as well—although, there is something else that interests me. How did you find their temperament to be, Hythlodaeus?”

“Their… temperament?”

“As you pointed out, even a child learning the ins and outs of Creation can work with these little birds. That is what they were submitted for and of course why the review process is taking quite a while. Anything a child can create is best harmless and not liable to run away at the earliest convenience—doubly so with the recent incidents of wayward souls latching onto creations and causing quite a ruckus. For that end, something mild and demure, not too skittish but not too demanding of entertainment.”

Hythlodaeus crossed his arms and then shook his head. “Their overall temperament leaned into the skittishness of birds, though I reckon that my boredom had something to do with that. But if they lean towards the usual demeanour of birds, perhaps it is best to review the overall concept and perhaps choose something… flightless. Something flightless with a little twist to it, so that both beginner and novice learners can do something with it. Livestock, perhaps? But to answer your question, the little bluebirds are not suited for their intended purpose.”

Emet-Selch had crossed her arms and was clearly thinking about something—her face was a little scrunched up as she stood there for a moment and tapped her foot against the ground. Then, finally, she looked back up at him, clenching her jaw before she spoke. “And you are certain you are Hythlodaeus, the one who follows Mnemosyne around?”

He leaned backwards a little, trying to escape her very pointed stare. Her soul, an almost jarringly dim mixture of red and pink, gave away her genuine confusion that was clouded with something akin to _concern._

He still hated it. He hated being able to see this—her overall stance was pointedly neutral while making certain she did not leave Hythlodaeus out of her sight just in case someone else was trying to pretend being him. Not that he would ever expect anyone to do that.

“I would be rather concerned were I not Hythlodaeus.”

Emet-Selch nodded abruptly. “I see, I see. Well then, Hythlodaeus. It is rather late, and I am afraid that my duties call me to a meeting rather early. Should you ever want for something to work with, the Bureau of the Architect could do well with a young man with such sharp perception when it comes to concepts.” With that, she waved and left. There was a strange spring in her step and her soul accordingly wavered from side to side as if she was… still waving at him.

What a strange woman.

* * *

The first time, it took him a while to process what had just happened. He stood there rather dumbfounded, his heart hammering in his chest so hard that he thought he was going to die right on this spot.

Years of spending his time with the people had made him more outgoing—to the point that Hades lamented and Persephone enjoyed his irony. Though, admittedly, Hades usually was on the receiving end of sarcasm whereas Persephone usually heard him quip up about something or other. 

It had been a simple thing, with him truthfully focused on what had happened the other day. After being left behind at the Bureau of the Architect quite a few days following the day he met Emet-Selch, Hythlodaeus had all but become a regular fixture at the place. Once Emet-Selch saw him again she all but told her employees that Hythlodaeus had a knack for finding mistakes and other issues with concepts meant to educate—and he was delighted to be given a few things and even allowed in an office while he waited. It had been one of these days, with him once more working with the blue birds that had been revised by their original creator and were once more submitted for review. This time the little birds had been made larger, a little slower, and they were flightless now. But their blue plumage looked almost hilariously out of place on top of their temperament somehow becoming worse. It had been like dealing with Hades in the morning—therefore not something that Hythlodaeus wished upon anyone.

He had just been dismissing the birds one by one when the door opened. He raised a hand to signal that he was busy.

A moment later he found himself yanked backwards, twisted and forced down to be on eye-level with Mnemosyne. The man had a calm smile on his face, but the red and green soul that had become as familiar to him as that of Hades was basically _aflame_ with the still ill-defined _intent_ that had always confused him. 

“You have been feeling _mighty_ comfortable here, have you _not._ After being _blind_ to your talents for so long, this woman has the _absolute gall_ to try and get you all for herself. Well, _dearest_ Hythlodaeus, it would seem that your time at the Bureau of the Architect is about to come to an _unfortunate end._ Finish your nonsense here.” Mnemosyne’s grip on his collar intensified, and Hythlodaeus’ entire body seized up. “Don’t you _dare_ go forgetting who brought you and your friend to Amaurot.” With that, he shoved roughly, and Hythlodaeus stumbled backwards while the remaining birds scattered across the room with terrified screeches. “Tomorrow, Upper Achora Heights. Oh, and know that should you talk about the reason why you _most unfortunately_ can no longer attend concept testing, your life will be complete and utter _hell.”_

He stood there for a long while, the birds eventually calming down. One that had pecked into his chest so roughly that his ribs had stung for a while edged close enough to gently bonk its head against his leg—it was enough to make him remember that he was still in an unoccupied office at the Bureau of the Architect, and that he needed to dismiss these birds. He moved about still completely shocked into silence, finished writing up thoughts on the concepts for their supposed purpose and dismissed them slowly. Steadily. He couldn’t bring himself to mess with the one that now squawked at him; as much as his chest had stung back then it was nothing compared to the cold horror that was now gripping him. He fussed with the cloak for a while, tried to return the bird into its original state—and failed. With a weary sigh he squatted down and stared at the bird. It stared back, its beady little eyes unblinkingly staring into his. 

Without second thought, he scooped it up in his arms and carried it out into the hallway. All those doors that he knew had people behind them that he knew suddenly felt like they were beady eyes staring at him, and Hythlodaeus squeezed his eyes shut. The world in monochrome was about as good a guide as following the flares of souls through sterile darkness.

The clerk at the counter asked if he was alright, Hythlodaeus merely muttered an excuse about a dizzy spell and shoved the bird and the finished reports across the counter, then slowly made his way to the door. Even with his eyes closed the sheer magnitude of people outside along with the resident bits and pieces of the Underworld that refused to return to the earth made him gag, and with blind disregard for all the people he bumped into he made his way back… back where, exactly? Mnemosyne had a point.

He played it off when even Hades later that day commented on him sounding very off—Hythlodaeus instead gave him a laugh that sounded strange even in his ears and said that he was merely having a weird day. But everything in that room other than Hades felt alien now. 

The next morning, Upper Achora Heights, did not prove to be better the slightest. It seemed as if something or other had suddenly dropped, and Hythlodaeus started to realise that this intent had always been there. He was all but dragged along, outside the city. Shoved forwards so roughly once they reached their destination that he near fell down the hill they were on. Before he had a chance to properly catch his balance again, Mnemosyne was back and yanked him down and forced him to look from one side to the other.

“Now then. Make yourself useful, boy. With sight as keen as yours, you will be more than capable of confirming what I see and what Emet-Selch’s Chief Himeros woefully ignores. We are expanding Achora Heights. The Bureau of the Architect claims that the north-east is best suited for that expansion—but it is clearly the north-west.”

There was a subtle difference in the way it looked between both directions, but Hythlodaeus was not entirely certain what he was looking for. Hells, Mnemosyne sounded so certain of it that he did not doubt for a second that the man saw it just as well as he did in this equation. His eyes caught a flicker in the region that apparently Emet-Selch and Chief Himeros suggested as the better place. Whatever that flicker was, he had no idea. He closed his eyes and shrugged. 

“There is no discernable difference between the two.”

He did not like lying. At all. But at least it made Mnemosyne let go of him, and Hythlodaeus rather quickly stepped out of the man’s immediate reach. Finally, finally he understood. 

And he swore in that very moment he was going to keep that man’s focus on himself. Hades was another possible target for this—but not as long as Hythlodaeus himself drew breath.

* * *

“Pray excuse the strong choice of words, but you look like shit.”

He blearily blinked at his plate, then raised his gaze to Persephone. They had invited him out to dinner, seeing as Hades had been called in for some nonsense regarding his powers. They were tapping their chin and their blue eyes showed clear concern for him. He ignored the bad feeling settling in his stomach as he cracked a smile at them and shrugged.

“One would think that between the two of us, you would wind up being the one under the weather given how much you deal with Hades.”

“He can be quite pleasant when he wants to be, but I will not let you change the topic this time Hythlodaeus.”

He closed his eyes and saw the displeased flicker of their iridescent soul. At least it lacked malicious intent; they were genuinely concerned. 

“You have been acting rather odd for the past 400 years. The people under Emet-Selch said that you stopped visiting the Bureau altogether, and Hades claims that you are back to running yourself ragged but utterly refuse talking to him about it.”

He leaned back a little, away from Persephone. They merely folded their hands on the table and closed their eyes with a sigh when he refused to say anything.

“I would understand if you refused to tell me. But the very least you could do is talk to Hades rather than laugh your suddenly very nervous laughs and poke some fun at him, effectively diverting the conversational topic. You were always elaborate enough to debate some of the best at the Hall of Rhetoric, but you have been using that skill to worm yourself out of uncomfortable conversations lately.”

It was the only way to keep people from asking if he was okay. Apparently it had started to show that he did not want to be anywhere near Mnemosyne, but at the same time he simply could not stay away—especially not after the latest threat of simply sending him back to the coast and using Hades instead. He was dealing with a member of the Convocation that no one had any way of stopping, and the rest of the population could close their eyes around that uncomfortable situation of Mnemosyne’s supposed apprentice growing more and more tired to the point of slouching and refusing to speak when he had previously talked to them at length.

He still played perfectly polite and cracked his jokes, yes, but he felt just about nothing any longer. He had enjoyed Hades bristling and Persephone giggling at some joke or another, but nowadays it was all he did. He withdrew from what he had once treasured as the best times of the day earlier and earlier, citing exhaustion and leaving the two of them sitting there with worried looks on their faces.

He mutely nodded, the worry in their soul flaring up as he did. At least he bit back the urge to excuse himself from their general presence.

* * *

It felt like lightning striking his face, and he recoiled with a yelp. Unfortunately his mask went flying and even as he slammed his hands into his face to preserve his own dignity, he knew that even for a split second Mnemosyne had _seen his face._ The one thing that he had kept for himself after effectively becoming that man’s pet dog sniffing out possible mistakes that Emet-Selch and her seeing second-in-command, or her glorified personal assistant as Mnemosyne called him with a snarl when no one was around, made whenever it came to the latest expansions. Hythlodaeus had yielded to Mnemosyne after the man pulled him around by his hair and said that something in Emet-Selch’s chosen sector looked a little off—Hades had near collapsed when he entered the apartment to find that Hythlodaeus had cut his hair so short that nothing and no one could conceivably pull on it. He got rid of anything that helped him see, leaving him mostly blind in a world in black and white that shone with colours that he now desperately wished he couldn’t see. He made Hades banish whatever spirits he invited into the apartment. He craved the sterility of the insides but buildings when he had all but feared them in the past. 

The whimper that escaped him when he felt something seep through his fingers was more than a little pathetic. But at the same time he almost wished that this escaped creation had struck a little higher. Maybe losing his eyes would mean he would stop seeing. 

There was a loud crunching noise—Mnemosyne had likely stepped on his mask. Oh well. It was easy to create a new one later. Whatever the man said next fell on deaf ears and Hythlodaeus found himself yanked along like a disobedient dog on a chain once more. He was more focused on the pain blooming across his nose and the fact that he was bleeding rather profusely now.

In theory it had been yet another outing to undermine Emet-Selch’s efforts. While Mnemosyne kept up the facade of working with her happily for the sake of his title, Hythlodaeus had slowly but steadily started to learn that this man was determined to prove that Amaurot needed to drastically change its ways. And the fastest way to make them realise that was by showing that the Architect was not infallible even through the extensive research from the Bureau and the additional asking from the Auditor. Halfway through Hythlodaeus combing through everything with his sight, they had received news that some illegal creation had escaped from its creator’s house and was running into their general direction.

He hadn’t even gotten a good look at the thing before it hit him, and he knew that Mnemosyne was likely pulling him away from the Convocation officials going after this creation.

Good grief, how was he going to explain the broken mask or the blood on his gloves to Hades when he still refused to go to the Bureau of the Architect? 

He snapped back to reality when Mnemosyne suddenly stopped and cleared his throat, seemingly talking to someone. Hythlodaeus peeked through his fingers—and saw Emet-Selch standing there with crossed arms.

“—noticed, _Mnemosyne,_ but Hythlodaeus is _bleeding._ ”

A long, heavy silence took hold of them, and Hythlodaeus had to admit that he was getting light-headed standing there, pressing his hands against his bare face and blood running down his face.

“The creation was supposed to help with potential poisoning. Wounds caused by it do not stop bleeding on their own because that is what its venom accomplishes. Himeros has confiscated a concept for an antidote—you had best report this nonsense to Elidibus and Altima; I will take care of Hythlodaeus.”

A begrudging grumble, and Mnemosyne left. Emet-Selch stared after him for a moment, then snapped her fingers.

She handed him a towel of some sort, which he took with a small nod and waited for her to turn around so he could press it into his face. Whatever she had done to that design, it felt cool against the throbbing pain that was spreading through his head.

“It should numb the pain a little. The Bureau is about 5 minutes from here—how light-headed on a scale from one to ten are you?”

“Three…?”

She clicked her tongue. “Mnemosyne is gone, Hythlodaeus. You can be honest with me.”

“… Five and a half.”

She did not touch him but still led the way very confidently, asking if he was still with her every half a minute. By the time she pulled him into the Bureau of the Architect through the backdoor she had already contacted Chief Himeros and the poor man was fidgeting about so nervously that he nearly dropped the vial of strange green liquid he had been holding when the Architect and Hythlodaeus entered. There was a moment of pause before she dismissed her Chief and told him to take care of any Convocation members that might arrive in the halls, then she guided Hythlodaeus into an empty office and locked the damned doors. He was already in cold sweat, his senses more than a little out of wack by then, but he would have broken into cold sweat once he heard that door click locked.

“Much as I loathe asking this of you from one Amaurotine to the other, you will have to remove that towel so I can apply this to your face.”

“And if I don’t?” He asked it softly yet with a strange edge to his voice. The Architect’s soul curled in on itself, clouding over with an emotion that could only be _guilt._

Indeed, for a long moment she was quiet, even holding her breath as the colour of her soul went darker and darker, the guilt intensifying as she very likely stared at him. For someone who expressed so little normally if the rest of the population were to be believed, she most certainly seemed to be going through several stages of thought that left her feeling deeply ashamed of herself when she finally breathed out slowly.

“… It was foolish of me to believe that it would go any other way. So very, very foolish.” There was some movement and Hythlodaeus half expected her to tear his hands off the towel to slather his face in whatever the antidote or counteragent or whatever she called it again was. But all she did was sigh softly. “I know not what he has threatened you with, but I swear on my title—should you choose to bleed to death here, your secret will be safe with me. But if you lower your hands and let me stop the bleeding, I swear I will do everything in my power to make amends for what I wilfully closed my eyes to.”

Hythlodaeus did consider refusing her in this very moment. But somehow, automatically, he lowered his hands and the towel with them. He blearily blinked at her and then mutely nodded. 

She did not say another word until he bleeding was stopped. Said nothing even when he slowly looked at the towel and his gloves, then turned around with an excuse to create himself a bucket and throwing up into it. All she did when he turned back around was handing him something he dimly recalled as a recent invention from the Bureau of Medicine that was supposed to help people who had recently lost a lot of blood. Something out of Altima’s department—of course someone like Emet-Selch would have it. Hells, she even got up and got him a bowl of water to scrub the blood off his face. 

When she returned with that, however, she stopped waiting.

“There are no words in any language that properly express how deeply ashamed I am of ignoring the telltale signs of Mnemosyne… being Mnemosyne. You suffered under my wilful ignorance, Hythlodaeus. A little competition between Emet-Selch and Mnemosyne is encouraged as long as it does not drive a wedge between them, but I fear the competitiveness has long since grown into obsession with him. Obsession can be harvested into something productive, of course, but in my attempts to keep my eyes closed I might as well have created the flesh-eating monsters that would sooner tear you apart for their own survival than give up on their ambitions.”

He stopped wiping the blood off his face and dropped his gloves into the bowl. Very careful and deliberately, Hythlodaeus went about to recreate something that he had not done in quite a while; a mask with lenses in them that corrected his bad sight. Nausea roiled up inside him like a spring ready to uncoil itself, but he shook his head slightly. Guilt still clouded Emet-Selch’s soul—but somehow there was something new to it. A spark that he could not quite place, something that reminded him of Mnemosyne’s ill-defined intent without the ominous energy to it.

“I have no intention to beg your forgiveness. But I intend to make up for my gross neglect. Hythlodaeus of Amaurot—the Bureau of the Architect would be honoured to welcome you as its employee. For however long you desire, or for as long as I am Emet-Selch.”

He shook his head again. He couldn’t leave, no matter how much he wanted to. “Hades,” he croaked out softly. “If I fall out of line, he will go after Hades.”

Emet-Selch crossed her arms. “Exerting power over those he invited into the city, is he. Well, worry not—I assume your friend was going to surprise you with the news, but just before news reached me that something was going on, I was personally asking him to join us here at the Bureau of the Architect once his studies are finished.” 

He sighed in relief when he heard that. Emet-Selch opened her mouth to say something, but a knock on the door and a very frightened voice asking for her prevented her from saying anything but “Come in”. A man Hythlodaeus had worked with before he had stopped coming here stood there wringing his hands.

“U-Uhm, Esteemed Emet-Selch… we have. We have a situation on hand.”

“Speak plainly.”

“Chief Himeros is trying to take care of it but we have… uh… an enraged sorcerer in the main hall.”

Hythlodaeus’ head snapped around at those words, fast enough that his rebelling stomach gave in and he lunged for the bucket again. The poor employee stood there even more uncomfortably wringing his hands while Emet-Selch crossed her hands.

“H-He… he demands seeing Hythlodaeus, post-haste. His... his companion is trying to quell his temper alongside Chief Himeros but there, uh. He’s. A-Anyway.”

He let out a small giggle as he sat back up, which in turn made Emet-Selch snort loudly. “Well,” she said, tone completely flat but an amused smile on her face, “then show the sorcerer in before he wrecks our building.”

The employee bowed quickly and all but ran off—Hythlodaeus turned his face towards where he knew the main hall was. He hadn’t looked there yet, but even through the walls he saw the utterly seething black and violet that was violently lashing out. It might as well have been a wild swirl full of spikes that he knew only came up when Hades was anxious, and even through the sharp guilt that pierced him right now, Hythlodaeus nearly felt the urge to cry in relief that Hades still thought of him as someone important enough to nearly go into a frenzy over.

“You have good friends, Hythlodaeus,” Emet-Selch said gently.

Beside the spike of dark, Persephone’s shimmering iridescent faintly glowed with what he could only describe as utter horror and a deep-seated fear. But at the same time, they were clearly reaching out to quell Hades’ furious anxiety over this entire situation.

There was a quiet agreement between him and Emet-Selch to not mention any of this—she nodded at him and he nodded back, instead settling for something else as down the hall he could hear stomping.

“I am not quite certain I deserve them, but I have never once been happier to be able to see their souls.”

* * *

There was one good thing he could attribute to this whole mess, at the very least. Much like Persephone he had become someone a good chunk of the population knew, and according to Chief Himeros the mood in the Bureau lightened quite a lot when people coming in to get their new concepts registered and checked. Hythlodaeus greeted people with genuine smiles, others with amused smirks, and even Hades and Persephone commented on something about him being a lot less intense now.

It didn’t stop Hades from turning the situation on its head, however. In the past it had always been Hythlodaeus standing between the rest of the world and his friend—he did appreciate that Hades tried. But Hythlodaeus had learned one very important thing about Amaurot as a whole through that entire horror show. The people closed their eyes to things that they did not want to see. Hades, too, did the same. Many people asked why he was suddenly at the Bureau of the Architect instead of with the Auditor, some even in plain earshot of Chief Himeros and very rarely Emet-Selch herself, the two people who knew what had happened. Hythlodaeus played it off with a laugh, waved a hand through the air dismissively and said something about his constitution never having been the best and that ever since that incident it had become even worse.

Of course, Hades assumed that this was indeed the case.

For a few years, Hythlodaeus was content letting his friend insist on doing everything on his own whenever something that needed to be done in or for the apartment was concerned. He let the normally not that talkative Hades take the lead in some conversations.

There was some sort of bruise on Hades’ soul that might have been guilt whenever he was around Hythlodaeus. After a few years, he was starting to get rather sick of Hades playing the mother hen.

Which, of course, caused more tension. For the first time since leaving their home town together, they _fought._ The very petty sort of fight where several unsavoury things were thrown around—including a mug that was brushed onto the floor when Hythlodaeus animatedly gestured and said that he was not in danger of getting murdered by anything or anyone and that one incident had been an outlier. 

They hadn’t talked since then—four almost agonisingly long years of utter silence.

Hades vanished off to spend most of his time with Persephone, to the point that there were rumours floating about that the two former star students were an item. And indeed, from the way it looked, Persephone was extremely happy. Their soul was bright and swayed slightly whenever he politely talked to them. For the first time in ages, he found himself irrationally upset over something, and Persephone was the unfortunate object of this… jealousy? Was he pettily jealous? That at least seemed to be what Chief Himeros called him after he spoke with Persephone at the Bureau once, and Hythlodaeus stood there for a moment in cold shock before he remembered that Chief Himeros, too, saw souls rather well. 

“Forgive me; it is rather hard to ignore that distractingly bright red of yours—and it glows like irradiated material around Persephone. That you manage to still act this normal around them when your entire soul is ablaze with petty jealousy is an astounding display of self-control.”

Persephone made it… hard to continue with this self-control, however. They had insisted on this dinner at their place and he had begrudgingly complied to their wishes; they still were his friend and he knew that he was the irrational one. But after not even ten minutes he itched to jump to his feet and flee out into the streets, all while Persephone idly talked about how bad the weather was this season and how that was going to be a bother when inevitably they and Hades would talk about their latest creation at the Akademia. Hades this, Hades that—he was never happier to know that Persephone did not have the gift of Sight, because the controlled jealousy was quite literally threatening to consume him from within. 

Eventually, when he was near the breaking point, he cracked a rather lopsided grin at them when they were once again going on and on about how short-tempered Hades could be.

“I beg of you, spare me the utter torture of inviting me to your wedding whensoever that will take place—for you sound like a spouse talking about their long-time partner and I would quite prefer no part in this.”

Persephone stared at him for a moment.

Then they broke into howling laughter. They doubled over, clutching themself with one hand and trying to keep the mask in their face with the other. Hythlodaeus watched that entire spectacle with a rather baffled expression until they finally backed themself into a wall, wheezing. 

“Bahaha! O-Oh dear. Oh, Hyth. Aha ha! Hoo! I would consider this the worst insult I have ever received if it weren’t that _damn funny!”_ He watched them all but stumble over back to the table and sink into their chair, chortling in amusement as they desperately tried to keep their mask in place. “Oh, goodness me. Please, never ever insinuate something like that again. Hades and I would kill each other within a week—just as you and I in a working environment go together like oil and open fire. But hearing you say that explains _so much,_ you have no idea.”

He scowled at them a they continued giggling and sunk onto the table with a dramatic sigh.

“Seriously though,” they said as they sat back up, fingers laced together and their chin resting on their hands, “that really does explain the last four years rather well. While most Amaurotians are not immune to petty arguments in private, something about you and Hades seemed decidedly off. I do not need the gift of Sight to see that both you and him have been in utterly atrocious moods as of late. And, well. Now that the two of you have accused me of being in love with the other, I think my hypothesis is proven correctly.”

“Wait, what?”<

“Would it kill you two to actually talk without any emotional constipation for once in your forsaken lives? Ever since that incident with that rampart creation, Hades has attempted to keep you on a short leash while you were very much not receptive to that. You noticed it and got mad, and Hades got mad about you not being a little more careful in general. Which you both have thrown at each other’s heads but never got to the required follow-up conversation thanks to both of you being rather stubborn seaside mules.”

He was perfectly aware of their amused look when he turned away. Even now the blinding myriad of colours that made up their soul sparkled and gleamed in amusement at the edge of his vision, twisting with the laughter that they kept at bay. As startlingly brilliant as that soul was, ever on the edge of his awareness when he was around them, he knew that something as glaringly loud as their soul would have never drawn him in all those years ago. It was the quiet dark rather than the tumultuous light that his vision allowed him to see best; the dim and dull colours of life rather than the bright glare of death. 

“To be fair, Hades did spit out the story of how the two of you met after I nigh tortured him to the brink of death the other day.”

His head shot back around, his eyes wide behind his mask. Persephone still sat there with their chin resting on their hands, their smile lopsided in a way he had never seen before.

“Oh, not physically. I am a master of psychological torture, apparently. He was writhing by the time he spat it out and called me a horrid snake whose wretched presence blighted the soil of the continent. A rather colourful statement, considering I was merely reminding him of all the times he managed to skilfully land himself in a complete faux-pas, but I digress. In any case, the way the two of you met paints a rather clear picture—how decidedly adorable, that the two most stubborn seaside mules that I know meet like ye olden soulmate novels set in times before Amaurot was built. Honestly, Hythlodaeus, for people as intelligent as you and Hades the two of you somehow manage to wrap around to being the dumbest, most hollow-skulled people I have _ever_ had the pleasure of knowing. For the love of the Underworld, talk to him. Tell him you don’t want to be coddled like some sort of fragile glass sculpture from overseas instead of the both of you continuing to brood in your place. Because the way this is going, one of you two is either going to snap or is going to move out, and then you will both be immensely unhappy for the rest of your wretched lives. So go, shoo.”

* * *

The place was eerily quiet, but his Sight immediately told him that in his frustration, Hades had drawn in several spirits and what not. They were flitting about the apartment like little swamp lights, bouncing across the dark and violet canvas of unwavering silence that was Hades’ soul. Hythlodaeus shook his head slightly as he moved forwards—he just knew that Hades was staring at him in the way that only people with the Sight could. It was a look that Persephone and Emet-Selch never quite had, one that Chief Himeros sometimes had. One that Hades avoided now that he had been trained in the finer arts of sorcery. 

For a moment it was as quiet as it had been for the last four years, then Hades shrugged where he was sitting and let out a defeated sigh. “Did they call you a moron with his head in a swamp as well?”

Hythlodaeus snorted. “Hollow-skulled and stupid, alas. They can be rather colourful when they want to be—even though a swamp would so very much ruin your nice white hair.”

“Stay serious, Hythlodaeus. Please. For once.”

He frowned beneath his mask. “In case you missed that memo, I have been for the past four years.”

Hades shook his head slowly with a sigh. “Okay. Okay, we are starting off on the wrong foot—is this the part where I ask for parley? Because I am asking you for it.”

Hythlodaeus closed his eyes with a long sigh. “That is something I have not heard in _centuries._ You, my friend and eternal bane of my existence, are _dreadfully serious_ about this.”

“It takes one coastal moron to know one, I suppose. Hythlodaeus— _Hyth._ You threw it at my head fair and square, but given that we both appear to be, ah, _tremendously stubborn,_ I never even entertained the thought of apologising until you came crawling to me first. Which is extraordinarily entitled and childish; we are not kids living in the same place by the sea any longer. Therefore, for all that it is worth now, I apologise for my behaviour. It was never my intention to _cage you,_ as you so aptly put it.”

“Just as it was never my intention to sound… suicidal, was that what you called me?”

Hades gestured vaguely, likely in an attempt to tell Hythlodaeus to sit down. He did not move the slightest from where he was standing, which made Hades sigh slightly. 

“Hades, an illegal exception escaping its creator and running into me again any time soon is about as likely as Persephone suddenly deciding they do not want to be the heart of the party—“

While he had been talking, Hades had gotten up and walked over, a deep frown on his—as Hythlodaeus noticed now—mask-less face. Even though it had been years since then, he clearly still remembered the way that the colours had danced around this white-haired boy with the mask slightly askew, the way everything had joined into this marvellous dark soul with violet spots leaving nothing short of a whorl just outside the village that had drawn in everything around them. Up close, as Hythlodaeus learned later, that dark soul was solid in ways that other souls were not, all thanks to an absurdly strong link to the Underworld itself. The dead, as one sorcerer in Amaurot called it, adored Hades in ways that the living did not. And Hythlodaeus being a person who had no control over what they saw, the sorcerer then continued, was drawn in by this soul of a living person that seemed like it should belong to a spirit of the dead. 

But even through that solid, sharp darkness that filled his vision, he knew that other people had described Hades’ eyes as strikingly amber—he had seen amber souls, of course, but he very desperately wished that he could see the living world in proper colours for once. Just for once.

He did not move the slightest when Hades reached up and removed his mask. There were few people he permitted to see his face, to the point that he kept the mask on in even most private situations. It was, and he knew that, very profoundly linked to the fact that Mnemosyne had seen his face. He had never told Hades that, of course. No one but Emet-Selch knew, and that had been the reason why she had let the wound scar over rather than seeing his skin mended back together flawlessly. A scar, fine and running from one eyebrow across the nose. Something that Mnemosyne had never seen and would never see. 

But Hades saw it, and Hades likely blamed himself for it. Hades, who had technically been invited to this city first, and who had said that he wanted to go. Hades, who had been offered everything while Hythlodaeus had struggled to even fit in for the longest time—and what Hades did not know, struggled under the rather souring realisation that Amaurot closed its eyes in ways that he could and would not.

Hades, whose free hand was now on Hythlodaeus’ cheek. “I know, Hyth,” he whispered. “I know it is unlikely, but merely the thought of something like that happening near drove me insane for a year. You up and get injured like that, nearly bleed to death were it not for Emet-Selch’s timely intervention, and then not even three days later you loudly declare that you are going to take up her offer and will work right where most of these issues occur outside of Akademia Anyder.” 

He fought the urge to lean into that hand; he was not some touch-starved child pulling its best friend through a village by the sea. “I would be safest where several people are trained to take care of these issues, don’t you think?” 

“Persephone said the same thing. While metaphorically pushing my head into the toilet.”

“Glad to know that they took over my duties as your better half while we were not speaking to one another.” Finally he gave in, leaning ever so slightly into Hades’ hand. “But I forgive you, if you will forgive me. Perhaps I was being reckless after all, without ever noticing it—and I promise you, tormenting you with that was never my intention. I just… I just wanted to take this offer.”

The less Hades knew, the better. But Hythlodaeus almost desperately wanted to say why he had all but fled his position as Mnemosyne’s right hand. Why Amaurot was not quite as flawless as Hades, gifted as he was, likely perceived it. 

He couldn’t.

He would likely never be able to. Not when Hades let out a low laugh like that and pulled him down so they were on the same eye level—something they hadn’t really been since they were children, standing next to each other while Hades somehow enticed the souls of the dead with his presence alone. 

“Forgiven and forgotten, as long as you answer me one question, Hyth—did Sepho say anything about the conversation the two of us had before they invited you for dinner?”

He considered lying for a moment, but instead he chose to all but grin at Hades. Watching the colour drain from his face was absolutely worth it, even if it was a light grey going even lighter in his eyes—his soul bolted to utter stillness in horror, however. 

“Oh, just that we both accused them of being in love with the other and something about both of us being equally emotionally constipated.”

“Damn it.”

Hythlodaeus leaned forwards, bonking his forehead against Hades’—who in turn stepped backwards with a startled noise. For a moment they were both quiet.

Then they broke into familiar laughter that he had missed more than anything else in the last four years.

* * *

With countless seasons came inevitable change for Amaurot, even if for the most part it ever stayed the same. For the first time in several millennia, the Convocation of Fourteen saw a change of seats—the previous Emissary had resigned and all but immediately vanished off to places unknown. Rumour said that they were on the other continent for about a week before gossip turned to the new Elidibus. Allegedly on the younger end, no one really knew how old he was to begin with; and as Hythlodaeus learned rather quickly the first time he met the new Elidibus, also very unlikely to yield information all that easily. Though he had barely been Elidibus for a week, he had the part of an Emissary down to perfection—a pleasantly monotone voice when talking business, barely any gesturing when speaking, and overall not the look of someone who meant trouble. But there was something about this shockingly stark white soul that looked as if there were grey clouds blooming in the midst of it that was unsettling at best. Chief Himeros and Hades said something about Esteemed Elidibus’ soul being unsettling as well, which Emet-Selch dismissed with a displeased wave of her hand. 

“Unsettling or no, there is no denying that this Elidibus will be as sharp as the first one was.”

That explained the almost uncomfortable rumours that sprouted up once people got over the strangeness of this choice—something about this one being related to the very first one. And even when pressed by several people in the streets seeking answers, this man managed to hold and almost unsettlingly calm smile and told them very calmly that even if these rumours were true, he had still gotten that seat simply because Amaurot at large and the Convocation had decided that he was best suited for it. Even while saying that his soul remained just as eerily calm.

At some point his curiosity got the better of him—he had never seen a soul that calm before. He asked just as Elidibus was leaving the Bureau of the Architect right as his own shift ended, and the man let out a chuckle.

“Ah yes—Emet-Selch did mention that there was one in her department who saw with eyes unclouded. A rare gift on this continent indeed; though allegedly more common on the other continent. Hythlodaeus, was it? To answer your question; what you perceive is a… deception, you could say. Souls give away dispositions and intentions, even if the perceiving one cannot tell that apart. There is an _intent,_ ill-defined but ever present for unclouded eyes.”

Hythlodaeus had broken into cold sweat by that point, and swallowed as he nodded to signify that he was listening.

“The art of cloaking that omnipresence is hard to learn and even harder to master for sorcerers of any kind. And of course that very skill is one of the determining factors whether one is suited for the seat of Elidibus, Emissary, or not….” The man stopped all of a sudden, slightly turning his head to one side. Hythlodaeus finally knew what people meant when they said that they felt transparent around him. “You seem unsettled.”

He shook his head quickly, too quickly. “I… I am. But not because of you. You merely put something into words that I have struggled with for quite a while.” 

Elidibus let out a long and surprisingly weary sigh. “Long has it been since last someone with eyes unclouded graced Amaurot—and I fear we are ill-equipped to deal with the problems that arise with so uncommon but wonderful a gift. It is good that you found your way into the Bureau of the Architect; perhaps you can help us at the Convocation make this city more welcoming to the next person to see like you do.”

Before he could stutter out something about not being adequate for that sort of thing, Elidibus raised a hand and said a polite farewell, Convocation coat all but billowing out behind him as he harshly turned around the corner. Hythlodaeus thought he caught a momentary flash of amused stark green in that slab of white and grey that was the Emissary’s soul but that moment was gone nigh immediately. 

It became rather apparent that this was the first of many changes to sweet the city—and unfortunately change seemed to be accompanied by Mnemosyne storming in and out of the Bureau of the Architect every other day. Emet-Selch had made certain that he was busy anywhere but the front counters, even if the people asked where Hythlodaeus had gone. All the matrices and concept suggestions that had piled up on other desks were going faster than ever now that he was dealing with a lot of them, and Hythlodaeus was not sure whether that sudden bout of productivity came from the winds of change or his anxiety making him seek out things to keep him occupied.

One restless evening he found himself wanting to ask if Hades wanted to eat something and instead had gotten himself pulled down into bed by the other—Hades mumbled something about resting rather than running oneself ragged again, and Hythlodaeus forced himself to relax. As much of an issue Hades’ tendency to sleep wherever he wanted to had become, he had a point.

Persephone graced the Bureau the next day, their flighty attitude carrying them as they all but danced over to the counter he was manning that day, a smirk on their face as they handed over a formula for a new concept.

Hythlodaeus went over it with a frown on his face—and handed it back with a shake of his head.

“You would be better off bringing that up with Esteemed Mitron or Altima. While most certainly useful, I am afraid that this sort of creature is out of the Bureau of the Architect’s jurisdiction—especially after the least… incident involving one such creature. And before you bring it up, no. It being marine only means that you _really_ have to bring this up with Mitron or her bureau, and the medicinal use means that Altima and their bureau need to get involved as well.”

“You are _exceedingly_ on edge, Hyth. You’re tapping your foot, you’re drumming your fingers—is everything quite alright?”

“… Hades sent you.”

“He was complaining about you mumbling in your sleep and tossing and turning. Which, admittedly, piqued my interest because our dear Underworld-kissed Sorcerer tends to sleep like the dead he calls to when he uses his magic. Which means, of course, that you are unwell but in a way that you refuse to tell your… what exactly are you two, again?”

“Friends.”

“With benefits.”

“You came to inquire about my mental well-being and now you are poking your head back into our relationship, Sepho.”

“Ah.”

They looked as if they wanted to say something else, but the last thing that Hythlodaeus needed right now was another instance of Persephone sticking their head where it did not belong. “In any case, please take that concept to the proper bureaus at your earliest convenience. I am fine, I will be fine, it just so happens to be a rather busy time of the century and you are not helping. The Bureau of the Architect will contact with within the next seven days if we do not hear back from the Bureau of Medicine or the Bureau of Ecology that you approached them. Next, please!” 

Persephone’s iridescent soul flickered in utter irritation as they moved away and Hythlodaeus was left feeling like this was going to be one hell of a day in the nigh immortal lives they lived. 

He would be proven correct when he finally was to close the Bureau for that evening—and turned around to find Mnemosyne standing in the middle of the main hall. The man narrowed his eyes near immediately and Hythlodaeus broke into proper Amaurotine customs. He bowed, enough to be perceived as polite but not enough to let the man out of his sight.

“Ah, Esteemed Mnemosyne. It is ever a pleasure to receive you here at the Bureau of the Architect—if you could wait here for one moment, I will inform Esteemed Emet-Selch and Chief Himeros of your presence.”

He tried to walk away as calmly as he could, but once he could he all but jogged through the halls with horror near rendering him mute by the time he finally arrived at Emet-Selch’s office. Raising a hand to knock, he truly had had no intention of lingering for as long as he did—but Emet-Selch was speaking. Loudly. She never raised her voice like that, especially not around Chief Himeros.

“—joking, Himeros! You cannot! You cannot leave me with this madman hounding my every step over the latest theatre!”

“I can and I will, Xanthe. You know that the Chief of the Bureau has to ensure that everything goes swimmingly, and as Hythlodaeus has demonstrated very well over the past few months, I have not been doing that. My resignation is final—I will stay until you find a replacement, though my initial suggestion still stands.”

Something inside the room clattered as Emet-Selch most likely gestured wildly, her usual calm composure coming away like the mask it most certainly was. “I agree, I agree with that sentiment, Himeros—but you forget one detail in this equation. As my second-in-command any choice would have to deal with Mnemosyne in my stead should I be unavailable. I cannot do that to Hythlodaeus. I cannot.”

“Then find a solution! Appoint someone else! But Xanthe—no, Emet-Selch. Emet-Selch, I have stood by and let this man exercise power over those he deems incorrect for too long. I have to get this nonsense out of my system, I need to _leave Amaurot_ before I do something truly regrettable. You were my friend once, I loved you once—but no more. I have had enough. Find a better Chief for your Bureau—my resignation letter stands as it is.”

He raised a shaking hand and willed his body to stop betraying the horror that was deep in his bones right now. He knocked, finally, and told them that Mnemosyne was here, waiting for them in the main hall. 

He once more fled, ran through the streets and slammed the door to the apartment shut when he finally, finally returned home.

Change was sweeping through Amaurot—a seat at the Convocation had been vacated and filled. The position of the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect was now apparently up in the air, and if he had heard that discussion correctly the other day, then Lahabrea at Akademia Anyder had just unceremoniously replaced his right-hand student-lecturer with another young man who had proven to be an incredible representative for the Speaker’s position. 

He leaned against the door for a moment longer before sinking to the floor with a raw sob that tore itself out of his throat. Without even taking off his mask he buried his face in his hands and wept for the first time in ages. Perhaps for the first time since those first nights away from the coast in a city where he knew not a soul other than Hades. 

It was Hades who eventually slunk out of his room, drowsy and very clearly out of it, Hades who quietly sat down next to him and threw the blanket he was carrying over the two of them and near immediately fell asleep leaning against him. That familiar weight against him calmed him down after a while—and even though he knew that there would be questions in the morning that would be extremely uncomfortable to answer, he stayed.

There really was no point in keeping on running. The least he could do was face the next bit of eternity with the winds of change at his back rather than threatening to blow him away.

* * *

Former Chief of the Bureau of the Architect Himeros of Amaurot was gone within a fortnight—and his replacement was announced to be Hythlodaeus of Amaurot. Emet-Selch had not even attempted to ask him, but following a breakfast with Hades where Hades mumbled drowsily that whatever it was that had bothered Hythlodaeus, he would be there to help him deal with it once he was ready to speak about it, he knew that there was something he needed to say.

This woman may very well have been able to prevent this unsettling fear of Mnemosyne to ever take root, yes, but she had not raised her hands against him directly. Thus he had approached her, had confessed that he had heard what had gone on the previous night and said that while he appreciated the sentiment it was high time that he faced his fear head on.

From a nobody who failed to fit in he rose to be the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect, and Emet-Selch only surprisingly meekly thanked him for it. She looked and sounded exhausted—and Hythlodaeus began to understand. Just as she had wilfully turned her gaze away from him deteriorating, now people were looking away from her and Himeros. While fear still gripped him the first time he came face to face with Mnemosyne again, he held his head high this time around and made sure to point a level look at the man while saying that he was going to fetch Emet-Selch, seeing that something demanded his attention right now.

Things changed, rapidly once again. Even Persephone said that the Bureau of the Architect had turned into a scarily efficient place, if a bit lacking in flair.

Hythlodaeus grinned at them and said that he could always add a little sparkle to something here and there, in subtler ways than they would expect. He did, in the end—the next project was related to the theatre that had caused Emet-Selch so much grief; a proper musical hall that Elidibus voiced personal interest in. Thus with the initial concept on the table, he added a few flourishes here and there.

The only person with a complaint was Mnemosyne as expected, citing that without asking the people living in that part there was no point in this.

“Of course,” Emet-Selch replied with a smile on her face that he knew was completely faked. “Albeit there is something concerning the coast that should demand your attention more than a simple building.”

And while Hythlodaeus got to see how petty the chain of control could be, Hades instead started plucking apart efficiency models in his spare time. And every single thing he pointed out was a glaring mistake, every single suggestion that went on and on made it clear just how excellent Hades was at raw construction.

“But once more, it lacks in certain _flair,_ Hades. The same way that some raw propositions from Emet-Selch do—and Hythlodaeus learned rather well to add some touches here and there without mangling the entire concept at its base,” Persephone said, waving their fork around in front of Hades’ face while Hythlodaeus giggled into his hand. “No-no-no, don’t you dare laugh, Chief! Left to your own devices, you overdo it. Too much focus on detail will make you miss the bigger picture, too little focus on detail and the whole thing might crumble if someone pokes at it just the right way. You complement each other rather nicely, and Hythlodaeus also complements Emet-Selch and her architecture.”

With that said, they dug back into their pie with an almost alarming gusto, considering the sheer amount of food they had consumed up to that point. Hades muttered something about watching them spoiling his stomach, and Hythlodaeus shot back that he was spoiling their fun by being a grouch—to which Hades replied with one of his trademark sighs and roll of the eyes followed by a comically overdone shrug.

Persephone, as always, turned out to have had a point. Sooner rather than later, Emet-Selch all but unofficially made Hades the second Chief of the Bureau—and Hades’ soul flared up in a startling display of pride. At the same time he watched a shift in the souls of Emet-Selch and Mnemosyne.

One was reaching an exhausted breaking point.

The other was broiling over with rage, a volcano about to erupt. Suddenly as the years went by his fear and terror came back—every fake smile, every venom-laced sweet word was on the canvas of a green-red soul that was one wrong word away from turning into a flash fire. The same flash fire that made civil discussions turn into shouting matches, the very same that drove some people to violence in the end. The violence that other people ignored.

The violence that Hades plain did not see.

And just when he reached a point where he wanted to run once again, Emet-Selch asked him to come to her office long after the bureau had closed to the public. He had been poring over the latest subject from the Bureau of Ecology—some bird that had no other use than beauty. He had been asked to see if it was conceptually sound and was invited to the thing actually being brought into creation should everything be fine. 

“The last seven hundred years have been… interesting, to say the least,” Emet-Selch said softly, her voice surprisingly hoarse. “Many old acquaintances of mine said that the last time the Bureau of the Architect was so abuzz with life was around the time I took my seat way too long ago—and I know I have you and Hades to thank for that.”

Her office looked… bland. He noticed that she had removed many things, stuffed them all into boxes and kicked those into corners so it was out of her sight, out of her mind.

“Though it was an invitation born of my inability to help you sooner, it was a pleasure to see you grow into the fine chief you are today, Hythlodaeus. And thus it is with a heavy heart that I must confess, my time as Emet-Selch is coming to its close.”

“I had a feeling,” he mumbled lowly, nodding towards the boxes in the corner.

“Of course, as title and station require me to, I have had to present a few possible replacements that I know would do Amaurot well as the next Architect.”

He did not like where this was going at all—looking at her, her soul was so dim she may very well have been dead by now.

“If you so desire, the seat on the Convocation would be yours—all thirteen would be in agreement. Of course, with it come the trials and tribulations that you have witnessed during your time as Chief of the Bureau.”

He would have to deal with Mnemosyne and this terrifyingly blinded by rage soul of his. The Architect and the Auditor worked closely together, a closeness that the current Emet-Selch and Mnemosyne clearly did not have. Perhaps that was why Amaurot was leaning to terrifyingly towards complete ignorance of things that were going less than stellar. It was clear that a new Emet-Selch was necessary, but as he thought about sitting in her seat with Mnemosyne ranting at him again, he could feel the man’s hands dragging him down by his collar again. He could see himself getting dragged around the office, and for a moment Hythlodaeus forgot how to breathe.

Emet-Selch was saying something, but he did not hear her the slightest. Her soul clouded over in confusion and worry once she realised that her words fell upon deaf ears, but he could not will his mind back to reality.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally managed to shake his head slightly.

“I. I am _truly_ honoured, but I… I… genuinely do not think I….”

“You would have to find a Chief for your bureau, of course. Someone you can trust, someone who you would have to tell about this. Being as perceptive as you are, you likely have noticed the uproar in your surroundings. Things are changing, and this may very well be the first stone cast that will see the mountain collapse. The mountain in this case being the Convocation, of course—Amaurot surviving these changes is your job. All you need is—”

“A heart wholly dedicated to the city. I know what is asked of members of the Convocation first and foremost—and this is where the issues arise. As honoured as I am that the Convocation would see me take your mantle, Emet-Selch, I cannot… I absolutely cannot dedicate my heart to the city and only the city. I would do my utmost, of course, but an Emet-Selch guided by fear with his heart in all the wrong places is… not ideal.”

Hythlodaeus stood back up and put a hand on his mask, right where the scar ran across his face. Emet-Selch knew, and he could see her soul cringe with a spark of guilt once she realised what he was trying to signify here.

“Amaurot means a lot to me—but there is one thing that means more to me than the city. I cannot dedicate my life to Amaurot in the way that is necessary; and the only choice for my second-in-command should I take the honour is obvious. It would be a perfect repeat of what happened with you and Chi… Himeros. Hades would wear down like Himeros has, and given that I would willingly give my life for Amaurot if the situation demanded it but I would die for Hades without the slightest bit of hesitation or regret, I cannot very well subject him to that. I will remain the Chief of this bureau if the next Emet-Selch wishes me to, because you cannot wear down what has already been worn down. But me in your seat would break me, would break the person closest to me, and would break Amaurot in the long run. As beautiful as this city is—it does not compare to Hades when he calls upon the powers of the Underworld. And that is why I cannot serve as Emet-Selch—because my heart belongs to one person rather than the city we live in.”

It was bizarre to see Emet-Selch sit there with tears running out from underneath her mask while she wore the first genuine smile he had seen from her in ages. She said nothing else and simply nodded.

Hythlodaeus bowed to her and excused himself, saying that he would be late to his post tomorrow since he would have to hand the finished concept review to Lahabrea and his department over at Akademia Anyder.

He left the Bureau of the Architect with both a lighter and a heavier heart.

* * *

Much like with Elidibus, the rumours that followed Hades when he accepted the title Emet-Selch at first started out demure and then turned into strange nonsense pertaining to Hades’ personal life.

Persephone and he were howling on the couch when Hades said very sourly that someone had asked him if the new Emet-Selch had a thing for sleeping around since he seemed to be with another person every other week.

That different person very much had to be Persephone, who had started enjoying changing their appearance on a whim. Many people still recognised them even when they changed everything, from their height to small details. Hades called it gaudy, Hythlodaeus enjoyed pointing out that he was effectively blind to any and all changes they made to their appearance because their soul remained the same no matter what.

“I beg of you, can you _stop_ changing your appearance so much?”

Persephone sat up while Hythlodaeus adjusted his mask again with a wheeze. They turned to look at Hades and seemed like they were going to agree with him.

As much as he loved Hades, however, Hythlodaeus slung an arm over Persephone’s shoulders and pulled them closer to him while shooting Hades a wide grin.

“Of course they will do no such thing. A member of the Convocation can and will deal with this nonsense, won’t you, O Esteemed Emet-Selch?”

“I can fire _and_ dump you, Hythlodaeus,” Hades hissed back.

“Oh! So you’re actually together!?”

Hythlodaeus shrugged. “This week. Who knows who he will leave me for next week.”

“At the rate you’re going, Esteemed Elidibus who I have not yet had the pleasure of working with because immediately after being given the title something on the other continent demanded him there.”

“Ah. Fired, dumped, kicked out of our shared living space and left alone in this city. Truly, you are one outstandingly cruel Emet-Selch, Sorcerer.”

* * *

The first time he had to deal with Mnemosyne on his own because Hades was required outside of the city, Hythlodaeus truly believed that this would be just fine.

It was not.

Finally, that dangerous mixture about to explode exploded, and he was thrown into a bookshelf in his own office. Of course. Mnemosyne was a sorcerer much like Hades was, every person with the Sight in Amaurot was one. The exception being him.

He scrambled back to his feet immediately and bristled, hopefully using his allegedly blood red eyes to his advantage.

“Whatever you think you can do here once Emet-Selch is out of the office, you are mistaken. Break every lousy bone in my body if you must—I can _assure_ you any property damage _will_ cost you.”

Mnemosyne bared his teeth in a horrible grin that Hythlodaeus had never seen on a person before. “You once again forget your damn place, _boy._ Were it not for me plucking Emet-Selch and you out of that village, you would have likely watched him set his own soul ablaze and burn out because that it what sorcerers do when they are not trained. A little more gratefulness for saving his life and seeing him alive long enough to become the next Emet-Selch should be in order, don’t you think?” 

“Any gratefulness I feel for that is completely irrelevant when you are trying to _bribe me._ And now that your bribe fell upon deaf ears, you are using violence. I will under no circumstances undermine Emet-Selch for whatever reason, not before and especially not after this. Reduce me to the atomic level, sorcerer—I do not fear death. And I would rather _die_ than let you shove me around to undermine an Architect again.”

He did not flinch the slightest when he saw a flare of colour as Mnemosyne yanked a stray soul out of the air and tossed it at him like a dagger. Hades did similar things, and though it stung while electricity crackled from the cut across his cheek, he did not budge. He was aware that he was quivering slightly, both out of blind rage and fear at the same time, but he did not care.

Hythlodaeus pressed his lips together and narrowed his eyes. “Your _audition_ is over, _Auditor Mnemosyne._ Get out of my office. _Get out of my bureau.”_

“You cannot tell me what to do, boy.”

“As Chief Hythlodaeus of the Bureau of the Architect and Emet-Selch’s right-hand man, _I in fact can._ While the Architect is out of his office, _I am to represent him_ —and trust me when I say, were Emet-Selch here in my place you would _not_ leave this bureau unharmed. _Get out.”_

He watched Mnemosyne leave—and immediately turned to fixing the bookshelf in his office. This was a fine mess, and he so despised fine messes; especially fine messes that had him dab at his cheek with his sleeve. At least he wasn’t bleeding excessively, he thought morbidly.

He had spent the better part of ten minutes trying to remember how he had organised the books when the door opened without a knock; and he turned to look at Hades who froze with whatever he was going to say dead on his lips as his eyes widened.

Hythlodaeus closed his eyes and numbly wiped at the by-then dried blood on his cheek. “Emet-Selch—“

“ _What in all hells happened here.”_

He got up slowly and patted down his robes. “Naught of import—“

“Hyth— _Hythlodaeus._ First I get reports of Mnemosyne arriving here unannounced and immediately going off to speak with you rather than try to contact me despite full well knowing where I was, then the downstairs employees tell me the man stormed out slamming doors cawing something about the Chief of the Bureau having threatened him, and then I find you _fixing your bookshelf with blood on your face!?_ This is _not ‘naught of import’_.”

He pressed his lips together, and Hades started shaking. That so familiar black and violet soul had clouded over to turn almost brown with anger and concer while Hades clearly struggled to find words. Then, when Hythlodaeus refused to say anything else Hades reached for him and almost gently grabbed his arm. He was nowhere near as gentle when he started pulling him out, down, and through the back doors while telling the Head Secretary that both the Architect and the Chief were unavailable for the rest of the day since something related to their families had come up. 

When they finally arrived back at their apartment Hades all but immediately snatched the mask off his face, drawing a finger across the faded scar on Hythlodaeus’ face.

Hythlodaeus shook his head slightly. “That wasn’t him.”

“So he actually did something to you.”

“Not physically. Hades, it’s—“

A scowl spread across Hades’ face, and he all but tore the red mask off his face. “No. No, it is most certainly is not _fine._ You’re shaking like a leaf, and _not physically_ means he still did something to you. Give me _one_ reason to not tear him into _pieces.”_

Hades did not wait while Hythlodaeus struggled to find words. He watched as Hades hurried off into the kitchen and returned with a damp cloth—and he still had no answer when he started gently wiping the blood off his face.

“Why did you never say anything?” Hades’ voice was unusually soft—and the hideous discolouration to his soul finally vanished. It had looked like an angry bruise before, but now it was back to the usual black and violet, flickering about in a way that told Hythlodaeus he was still utterly furious. The utter sort of fury that he had watched explode today, and Hythlodaeus raised his—as Hades had said, shaking like leaves in the wind—hands and grabbed Hades’ face.

“Like I said, I’m _fine._ I was _fine_ back then as well.” He said that, and Hades’ soul immediately turned back into that ugly shade that he hoped he would never have to see again. That seething utter rage did not work well for someone who spoke with the dead and slept like the dead.

“You’re not—“

“It’s fine. I’m _fine._ Hades, I’m perfectly fine and alive and well and it’ll continue being fine. As long as you don’t do something idiotic like wasting your time on tearing him into shreds. He was trying to get me to undermine you at every step as he did in the past with the previous Emet-Selch. That’s what he had me do, he used me to see things that no one else did. And I did it like an obedient little creation because he threatened me with sending me back. Without you.” He let go with a thing that was half laugh, half sigh and shook his head. “The reason he crooned about me having threatened him is because I… did, in a sense. I told him to get out of my office, out of the damned building—and said that if I were you, he would not be leaving unharmed.”

“Damn right he would not have,” Hades hissed and tossed the cloth back into the kitchen, barely missing the sink. “But now that I hear it, I… am appalled at myself and my inability to put two and two together. You continued standing between him and me like a living shield just as you did back in the village and suffered for it, without me ever noticing.”

Hythlodaeus shook his head. “I know that you are going to say you are the worst, but trust me when I say that I was just as shocked as you likely are at this revelation. I deliberately kept it under wraps.”

“To keep me safe.”

“To keep you safe.”

Hades sighed, long and hard. “Hyth… Hyth. You did to me what I tried to do to you, with the difference that you are… incredibly more subtle about it.”

Hythlodaeus let out a small laugh. “The hypocrisy does not escape me, O Esteemed Emet-Selch.”

“Well, no more of that. I say this as the Architect to his right-hand man—let me deal with Mnemosyne. Report anything and everything he does in my bureau without my knowledge to me.”

“Hades,” Hythlodaeus began but Hades pulled him down to press an unusually gentle kiss to his lips. Hythlodaeus closed his eyes when Hades let go again and sighed. “Hades, please do not kill him.”

“Oh, I will not.” Hades almost nonchalantly sauntered off into the kitchen to pick up the cloth and dumped it into the sink to let some water run over it. His soul was back to flickering with anger yet at the same time Hythlodaeus was nothing but comforted by that dark and violet. “But that does not mean I will not torment him a little. Between us both, I am the better sorcerer. The Underworld adores me as so many people put it.”

“Oh no—Hades, no, you cannot—“

“I can, and I will. I _am_ your superior.”

* * *

He heard it from the rumours before he ever heard it from either of their mouths.

Hades had held true to his words and had started to undermine everything that Mnemosyne did back at him. Hythlodaeus helped, using the fact that many people liked him quite a lot to see the Auditor’s involvement in projects to a minimum. He was instead sent further and further from the city where his ambition had become obsession, and who knew what else Hades did to him. He went from pristinely and snobbish-looking to a wreck in half a millennium, and he resigned suddenly for a member of the Convocation alongside his friend Lahabrea.

Lahabrea had of course made his choice for a replacement long ago, seeing as his retirement from the title had been scheduled—Loki of Akademia Anyder, an eccentric man with unparalleled skills necessary to fill the role of the Speaker. As Hades put it, an annoying tendency to enjoy their own voice, but Hythlodaeus had dealt with Loki before. The stray soul that had attached itself to the creation—the concept for that bird had been Loki’s and he had submitted it to Hythlodaeus specifically. Even dealing with the aftermath, the man had nodded at Hythlodaeus with a grim expression on his face and then said that calling for a proper sorcerer that knew how to deal with souls like that had been the best call. Loki himself was nowhere as skilled as Hades and Hythlodaeus were, but he was a lot more persistent with what he did. The tenacity of an immortal yet starved rat, as Hades called it eventually. That man would make a fine Lahabrea.

It made sense when a bunch of people waved him over and started talking about who would be Mnemosyne.

Many people had suggested him, seeing as he had spent a long time actually following that man around. He bit back comments about how he would rather kill himself than work with ‘his former mentor’ as they called him, but Hythlodaeus kept his usual calm smile on his face and shrugged vaguely before saying that he had not been approached about the position at all.

Eventually the speculation hit a point where all seven of them standing near the Macarenses Angle paused and nodded at each other saying that this was the only possible suggestion.

Persephone.

Persephone of Amaurot, who seemed to know every damned soul in the city by name, who knew how to talk to people on neutral grounds and who enjoyed chasing empty leads to figure out something in the end. No one else could be as kind while remaining one of the most tenacious people around, no one else who remained as unblinking and calm as they did.

Their behaviour in the last week had been rather odd—they had stopped changing their appearance every other hour and had become unusually busy when normally they spent their free time chatting with people all around or in the Hall of Rhetoric. They had even excused themself when Hythlodaeus had waved to them and asked about their day, stating that they were running late for something and jogging further down while he continued his way back to the Bureau of the Architect.

He crossed his arms and nodded, agreeing with the other six.

It came as no surprise to him when Hades and Persephone revealed it not a day later. The title Mnemosyne was inherently haunted for him, but Persephone would always be Persephone. Even if he would have to address them as Mnemosyne from now on.

“Besides, this barely changes anything,” they said, turning their wine glass in their hands. “Mnemosyne and Emet-Selch work closely together, and you’ve been the Chief of the Bureau of the Architect for longer than either of us will have had our titles. The only thing that changes is that you’ll have to call us by our titles out in the streets.”

“I would hope that your impossible behaviour would change ever so slightly now that you have _responsibilities,_ Sepho.”

“Must I remind you, O Esteemed Emet-Selch, that you were the one who nearly flubbed our presentation way back when we were students at Akademia Anyder?”

“Must I remind you, soon-to-be Esteemed Mnemosyne, that you were the one who spent another presentation doubled over a toilet?”

“Hey! That was a virus, not me drinking too much!”

Hythlodaeus laughed into his hand while those two started arguing in earnest. They were right. Nothing was going to change.

He was approached by a woman around his age the next day, and it took him a moment to remember who she was. His face lit up when he recalled that incident not long after Hades had been given the honour of being Emet-Selch back at Anyder where one rather clever student had managed to change a jellyfish into a slime-spouting miscreation. The matrix adjustments had been intricate and wonderfully made for its given purpose, and he had nearly thrown from laughter up by the time he and a slime-covered and extraordinarily grouchy Hades arrived back home. He did sleep on the couch that night, but he had never run into the mastermind behind that little slime attack.

She invited him over to a little roadside café and immediately started spilling her troubles. He was the only person she knew in a similar situation as her, and Hythlodaeus eventually tilted his head to the side when she stopped rambling. Sabik and soon-to-be Lahabrea were close, close enough that a possible change to their routine clearly upset her.

She waved to the devil they spoke of, and Hythlodaeus saw that he had his eyes narrowed behind his mask until recognition flashed through his soul. It was like a controlled wildfire, all reds and yellows and oranges that licked about his existence. Sabik in comparison was sheer cold, the frozen mountaintops on the other continent that saw no living soul on them—a solid mixture of white and blue and sparkling ever so slightly.

Many people commented on Hythlodaeus being oddly unremarkable for a person with such an interesting life—the only thing that truly stood out was whenever he genuinely laughed, Persephone had said once.

Sometimes he did wonder what a less interesting life would be like. Would he still spend his time in the morning with Hades all but clinging to him mumbling about not wanting to leave bed? Would he still spend a hilarious amount of time with Sabik who was clearly struggling with her feelings for a member of the Convocation while only claiming that she was worried she was going to lose her best friend to his job?

Would he still sigh in relief when the news of the previous Mnemosyne having left this continent reached him?

But nothing ever changed, and as interesting as others claimed his life was, it was his normal. He started frowning at Sabik one afternoon and asked if he was truly merely worried about losing Lahabrea. He welcomed Persephone to the bureau as Mnemosyne and listened to the concerns the people had listed with Hades’ latest project. He shooed three giggling children out of the main hall with Hades’ soul flaring in anger behind him as a laugh escaped him—he scolded those three for testing that water-spewing flower on an adult, a member of the Convocation of Fourteen no less and finished it up with another laugh bubbling up inside him. Most people could only hope to have one of the many things that happened in his month happen to them, but Hythlodaeus enjoyed it for what it was.

He still waved to Sabik who was following Lahabrea around in a group of other researchers at the Akademia. He nodded at Hades agitatedly discussing something with the new Nabriales and Altima in the Hall of Rhetoric and placed the urgent report at the counter. He was swept along by Persephone and their other best friend, a radiant iridescent soul and one that shone so brightly it may as well have been the light of the sun in summer along with his allegedly solid-colour crimson.

Truth be told, very little changed.

He was content with that.

* * *

“I met someone who had fled from the other continent while out,” Persephone said, their expression unusually grim. Their report should have gone to the Convocation first, but they had all but fallen in with the door and Hythlodaeus had made them a cup of tea. “The other refugees said that she was one who saw with eyes unclouded, and I remember Elidibus had called you someone like that as well. So I sought her out.”

Persephone broke into an explanation that they clearly did not understand themselves, but it chilled Hythlodaeus to the bones. That woman with eyes unclouded had seen what happened on the other continent after that tragedy struck. There was nothing left in that place, the ever present Underworld and the souls that refused to return there all gone. Consumed, perhaps, leaving nothing but wasteland that would never grow anything ever again. Persephone used terms that Hythlodaeus used whenever he thought about what he saw for too long without understanding what they were saying.

He said he was fine and that Persephone should perhaps go rest somewhere, and he spent the rest of the day in cold horror. Nothing in the world consumed souls like that. Not even sorcerers that called upon them to make the impossible possible like Hades. In fact, sorcerers were very liable to be taken over the spirits of the dead if they looked too deep into the abyss to begin with.

But a vast emptiness sounded like something that should not exist. The world was all colours, twisting and spiralling and flitting about invisible to normal eyes and hard to see for those that even could. He felt sick when he got up the next morning, turned around half way to the bureau and instead returned to the apartment. After five minutes in there he got restless and instead got to the roof—from where he could see the myriad colours that made up the streets of Amaurot best.

No living soul ever returned in the same way. Once an Amaurotine was dead that was it for them, and even if part of them remained it was never quite the exactly same colour. But even just the thought of a soul being fully destroyed was absurd, frightening—and suddenly he was very, very aware of how good his life had been despite the fact that Hythlodaeus of Amaurot was known for reaching out to people who were struggling with something while the rest of the city other than Mnemosyne looked away either knowingly or unknowingly. He did not want to trade it for anything else, but once again he found himself wondering what would have happened had he chosen any other path. Would he have become a sailor like most of the people in their village had he refused Mnemosyne’s offer to come to this city when he had been a child? What if he had been born on the other continent, would he merely have been someone with eyes unclouded rather than initially an oddity in Amaurot? Could he have changed things to become something or someone else entirely, while also still being Hythlodaeus?

No, he surmised when he watched a familiar black and violet soul storm towards their apartment. Hythlodaeus of Amaurot was exactly who he was. Perhaps in another life he would be Emet-Selch storming home to find his childhood friend and person that he loved almost as much as he loved the city. He knew that in the end he was the second behind Amaurot itself in Hades’ heart—and that was fine. It was genuinely fine, he had made his peace with it long ago. After all, unconditional love for the city above all else was the requirement every seat in the Convocation shared. The very reason why he had refused it.

He played his sudden existential dread off when Hades arrived, going on a tangent about different lives if souls could be reborn.

If souls could be reborn… perhaps then the vast empty that was the other continent now could be salvaged.

* * *

Very little changed.

Then everything changed.

He watched the snow fall as Amaurot as he had grown to know all but tore apart while they waited for the end. Seven years ago, for the first time since he had bloody left the city, his parents wrote him a letter. He did not remember their faces, did not remember their voices—and their last words to him, etched into this accursed piece of paper that he had stuffed into a drawer and never mentioned to Hades, were that they were proud of him. The shore had been the first to be consumed and was turned into dead land and with it came countless lives that ended just then and there.

He ran into Persephone with their best friend, that person with the radiant light soul. Persephone’s voice was raw and angry, a tone that he had never heard them speak with—and he saw that they were wearing a civilian mask rather than their Convocation one. He did not stop, he did not ask; Hades confessed that the Convocation was in wild disagreement at this point. Everything they suggested would not work against a world tearing itself apart without rhyme or reason. Persephone asked for more time, more and more—time that was running out, that ticked down as Hythlodaeus stared into the main hall blankly to see that not a soul other than the employees was here. And the employees were malcontent, fear and anger and dread clouding their souls.

He sent the entire department _home,_ told them to spend a week with their loved ones. Hades said nothing when he reported what he had done, only pulled Hythlodaeus down to bury his face in his shoulder and to sob. A raw sound, something that he had genuinely never heard from Hades either.

The colours of Amaurot changed—the streets were awash with anxious living souls, a general anxiety that gripped even the Underworld’s colours at this point. An anxiety that settled in his stomach was seeping through his bones as he reached out for a soul feebly flickering about. The density of aetheric energy was getting thinner and thinner. The Convocation became unreachable. There were deaths reported from Akademia Anyder as things went haywire, Persephone ran through the streets with a fire in their stark blue eyes and rage churning in the countless colours that made up their shining iridescent soul.

Amaurot held its dying gasp in for long, longer than it should have gone.

The Convocation of Fourteen became the Convocation of Thirteen. Persephone all but vanished from the streets—he asked their friend whose name escaped him to tell them that he was worried about them but they refused to answer him. Hades went to full-blown sobbing from sheer mental and physical fatigue in bed once he thought that Hythlodaeus was asleep—but he still woke up early, earlier than he ever did in his life, and marched through the streets to the Convocation offices with a grim determination on his face while Hythlodaeus was left to haunt the empty halls of the Bureau of the Architect.

There was no other way, he agreed, even though sacrificing living people to save the remaining living people was… most definitely not something he would do. There was nothing else they could do. His conscience could not take it, and he half thought about handing in a letter of resignation to talk to Persephone on even ground. But he couldn’t. He tore it into scraps after finishing it, heart heavier than ever before. He wasn’t going to leave Hades for as long as he lived. He made that oath to himself and watched the days pass with a gnawing sense of dread.

When Amaurot breathed out its dying gasp, it was barely more than a sigh rather than a shriek of agony. Hythlodaeus awoke that day to find the general feeling of anxiety had dissipated. He followed the usual crowd through the streets, dimly thinking of the bird that had thrashed and screeched and shrieked against the confines of life and raged against the finality of death. He saw the arcs of fire as the gleaming feathers burst into flame—and in his vision that creature became more and more grotesque as Hades failed to quell it. Despite everything, the skies were light grey when he looked up. Which meant they were blue, blue, blue. Pristine, bleached blue, with the sun shining down upon their heads as if it was mocking them. Amaurot, the last city standing. There were countless refugees in the normal group of people walking through these streets. He looked up. 

Not a heartbeat later the earth shook, and every soul in this place came to a perfect standstill. The dead were gone—the living were frozen as the anxiety came back with a vengeance. Three hundred people on this street, he reckoned—and then the blue skies immediately turned pitch dark. Panic flared up along with grotesque screeching and clawing, and Hythlodaeus once more found himself cursing his supposed gift.

Hades using his powers on a large scale was a controlled whorl, with dark seeping through the gaps between those souls that answered his call. It was a canvas of colours that compared to nothing else.

What he beheld now was wretched corruption clawing its way out of the very earth. Like a half-malformed creation fused with a soul stewing in rage long irrelevant to the living. Like a bird going down in an arc of flame only to rise again and again and again, fire raining down from its wings and leaving naught but devastation in its path. It spilled forth from cracks in the ground, invisible to other people but loud and blindingly bright and horrible in his vision wherever he looked. The souls of the living had that corruption laced through them once the panic set in fully, and it burst from them like horrendous living creatures. It was like staring into the thrice-damned sun while he tried to not give into absolute panic as well—but he was Chief Hythlodaeus of the Bureau of the Architect. The Convocation had a plan, a plan that he had frowned at but it was all they could do. 

He directed people around, ran back and forth and dragged people who fell back to their feet, until one was struck down right in front of him. The blast from that knocked his mask off, and Hythlodaeus stood there staring at the creature that had just killed that man he had been trying to drag away from it. He stared at it, and then at his own hands. 

His gloves were partially torn. They were drenched in blood and his entire system ran cold despite the fact that Amaurot around him was wildly ablaze. He could barely see as was, his skin dark grey instead of stark white in his vision because of all the blood. He slowly looked back at the thing—just in time for something else to rise behind it, grotesque and horrifying to behold as its features changed and flickered. Hythlodaeus was the head of a group of people that watched in surprisingly still panic as some crude approximation of a bird with the equally approximate features of a man rose ahead of them. It burned in his entire system, throbbing sharply through the surprisingly numb horror that seeped through him as this thing howled, a shrill sound that broke the calm panic and everyone, him included, started scrambling away. He slammed hos bloodied hands over his eyes, sobbing as he ran with the others, begging the Underworld to take this wretched, blighted curse off him already. He _saw,_ after all. He saw, saw, and could not stop seeing as the colours that had ever comforted him with their presence once he got used to them here in Amaurot turned into bizarre and terrifying miscreations that were all colours at once yet none at all. All he knew was that they were bright, too bright, growing brighter as the very Underworld itself turned into the fires that consumed Amaurot. The ground in front of the group broke apart and collapsed, and Hythlodaeus ran into other people looking around to find a way out. He could barely even make out their souls, violently churning and scarier than anything he had ever seen before in his life while corruption seeped through their very souls, giving birth to more bright and twisted things that he saw even with his hands over his eyes.

He continued begging even when that malformed thing that had clearly risen from his subconscious descended upon them with a flock of other abominations and a shrill shriek. Something tore through his side—but he pressed his hands against his eyes harder.

Someone tore his hands off his face and through all that blinding brightness, for even just a moment, with those despicable corrupted colours all around him, he saw that thing that was half bird of fire half a monstrosity borrowing features from the previous Mnemosyne swell. It was three times larger than before, and he realised what this thing was.

A laugh, a genuine, shrill laugh, spilled from his lips as the people pulled him into their middle. He stared right at it, his self-made doom as it burst and burnt his black and white world into complete and utter darkness.

* * *

Familiar darkness with nothing else, a void. A wildfire caged in the dark. A veil that could not hide the abyss that was woven into the soul below. Black ice. 

He saw nothing now, eyes unclouded turned eyes unseeing. He had to will himself to see what he had previously not been able to shut out—the world had ended, and Hythlodaeus finally had control over his gift. The world had ended, and he missed it. They pulled him out of a pile of corpses a familiar voice whispered and gently brushed a finger over his cheek. He was going to be fine as long as he rested, and this utter void of a soul marched away, leaving Hythlodaeus in the dark. He could not see where he was, his surroundings faintly agleam with a darkness that he was not familiar with when he forced himself to see. The Underworld that had dominated his vision all his life was _gone_ , not a soul dancing in the room he had to be in. There was nothing, just as there was nothing but darkness in that soul that swept back in along another, faint pink and red with crass black all swirled together. 

The world ended, and he was sitting up with a soul of light and a soul of countless colours by his bedside. Persephone said nothing, their friend who he finally remembered was called Aigle eventually answering his question. 

“Of the conscious ones, more than half offered themselves to Zodiark to rejuvenate the planet. That is where Emet-Selch is—sacrificing survivors to this, this… _thing._ The unconscious ones and the ones of questionable state such as you were _bloody spared._ As if we are _cattle.”_

Persephone’s soul gave away the fact that they could barely look at him. There was a fear that he had never seen with them before as they and Aigle left, and Hythlodaeus was on his own for what felt like an eternity. 

He wasn’t even sure what to call the man who came back from satisfying the demands of a god of his own making. The voice he heard and the gentle touches said that it was Hades who was here—the soul on the other hand was the void of a stranger named Emet-Selch, all dark and no violet. He _knew_ he should have walked out the very moment that he was able to walk again. His conscience was screaming at him that he could not be consort to a man who would sacrifice new life specifically raised to satisfy an insatiable creature. In the depths of his head Hythlodaeus knew that Hades as he had known him had died during the Final Days of Amaurot, had died sobbing in their bed and all that remained now was Emet-Selch of the Convocation. He should have left and mourned for his friend, should have sided with the side he morally agreed with. 

But he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Not after he made himself the promise that he would not leave Hades’ side as long as he lived. Persephone was clearly allied with Aigle and the others that said that sacrificing these new living beings was not going to absolve them of the crimes of having left their brethren to die like this. Hythlodaeus, in the eyes of Aigle, was clearly allied with the Convocation that sought to appease a monster that might have saved them but that should have been put down by this point. 

Hythlodaeus and Persephone both knew that he had sided with neither. Though they rarely spoke these days, Persephone remained one of the two people who knew what was going on in his mind, and they never once tried to win him over. They knew of the conflict that broiled behind his blind eyes, even as he started messing with things that were out of his control in the past. They said nothing when they found him collapsed in a broken street that no one had bothered repairing, said nothing when just the next day Emet-Selch was ushering him through the streets of a much smaller and much emptier city with a surprisingly stern voice for a man quite literally leading the blind. 

Familiar darkness had become unfamiliar darkness, but he clutched to Emet-Selch’s arm like a lifeline. He saw the souls of others turn and churn and swirl with displeasure. Aigle’s bright light soul blinked like a glare of sunlight, a heartbeat that was surprisingly determined despite their silence. Persephone’s colours shimmered and twisted, a mixture of guilt and anger in the middle of that. And Emet-Selch was dark, dark, dark—a void amidst the colours of the living. The longer he stared, the more the colours started shifting, blinking; before his sightless eyes they turned into the same corruption that had swallowed Amaurot whole. Hythlodaeus’ legs gave in below him, Emet-Selch nigh immediately tried to ensure he was unhurt—and he knew that even under this strange grasp on his being, underneath Zodiark’s claws Hades still remained. But there was nothing he could do. The longer he stared, the sharper the hallucination of all these souls turning into blinding corruption became. 

The only thing he could do was wilfully close his eyes, shut those colours out. He listened, intently, as Emet-Selch talked about possible solutions and perhaps a project that the remnants of the Bureau of the Architect could tackle next to ensure that Amaurot would be reborn sooner rather than later. He listened to the details of Zodiark’s summoning, heard many things from Lahabrea himself. Nodded mutely to those that had also sworn their lives and services to Zodiark without ever doing the same. They had all the time in the world for him to recover from the trauma of losing everything before their new god would need _more._

Thus, both according to and against his better judgement, he met with Persephone. Persephone who had loudly and proudly allied themself with Aigle and the faction that wanted Zodiark gone and the new lives preserved. Persephone who said nothing as he walked by himself and only asked if he needed help when he heard them step over something in the way. Of course they asked about Zodiark, and Hythlodaeus screwed up his face, even opened his blind eyes so they could see. 

“You know more about him than I do, Sepho. I only know whatever Emet-Selch told me after Termination.”

“… You… you don’t call him ‘Hades’ any longer.” It wasn’t a question, but he felt it pierce his still raw heart. He wasn’t sure what to do and settled for a laugh that sounded like a broken-hearted hysteric mess. He loved Hades, he still loved him more than everything else that still existed on this star. But rather than the city Hades had devoted himself to, Amaurot and Hythlodaeus had been replaced by Zodiark, Zodiark, Zodiark. Whatever was left of that love Hades once reciprocated, Emet-Selch was only capable of producing a hollow mockery of it.

Thus, Hythlodaeus _spoke._ Spoke until his throat was raw, until the tears stopped running down his face and he wanted to smash his mask instead of putting it back onto his face. Spoke until Persephone all but jumped out of their chair and rushed in front of him, pulling him into their chest and letting him bawl like the pathetic wreck he was. 

He wasn’t sure why he felt so guilty when he returned home. He wasn’t technically on Emet-Selch’s side. He wasn’t on Persephone’s either. 

He was all by himself, and even as the guilt became too much to bear for him in the morning and he reached for Emet-Selch asking for Hades and seeing that it was pointless, he knew that it was soon to be over. Either the sheer exhaustion of living like this would end his life, seeing as his state was getting worse and worse and Emet-Selch believed the nonsense Hythlodaeus had fed him—or he was going to kill himself quietly, somewhere far far away. 

Hythlodaeus did not make a choice in the end, when suddenly colour flooded into his vision once more. Eyes unclouded had told him that the Underworld had all but retreated from the surface and everything now had the darkness of Zodiark in it. But now there were familiar and unfamiliar colours and shades that he had almost forgotten in this world under Zodiark, and panic bubbled up from deep within. He saw souls with dark tendrils hooked into them, dark tendrils that choked out some very significant parts of what made these souls themselves. But now there were souls with light woven into them, all of them with familiar glints of colour in-between. Three souls so similar that they might have been the same, so close together that they became the same in his vision—he still remembered shooing those three out of the bureau. Aigle’s soul was a flare of light so bright it might as well have blinded him again. And then there were more, more, and in the midst of that stood Persephone, the light and their radiant soul fitting together like two halves of a whole. 

Had he made a different choice, would all of this had ended up the same? The guilt he felt was later replaced by cold fear when he turned his eyes towards the skies, where those two titans of their own creation were fighting. Dark against light, light against dark—and light was winning. The dark was cracking, and as his gaze swept across the remaining survivors of Amaurot, he saw that there were many souls aligned with light, countless aligned with dark… and some like him, with neither or both. All his life he had seen souls and he knew cracks when they appeared. Bright light was carving them apart as Hydaelyn struck Zodiark again and again and again, and Hythlodaeus dug his fingers into Emet-Selch’s arm. 

“It’s breaking,” he whispered and wheezed out a laugh that might have been a sob of both fear and relief. “Oh, what have you done?” Yes, he felt it by this point. Another blow. Another crack. If only he had become Emet-Selch instead of Hades, perhaps they could all have died in the fires of Termination together rather than sacrifice lives to save their own. Perhaps he would have stood in Amaurot’s ruins with Hades and Persephone by his side rather than both of them in opposing factions of war. Hythlodaeus had never made a decision in the end. Never would be able to. It was breaking, Hydaelyn was breaking the very fabric of existence with those well-led blows. “What have you _done?”_

And once more the earth shifted, violently, unstoppably. He lost his grip on Hades’ arm, tumbled off into the empty space of Hydaelyn’s victory as light triumphed over darkness and She rewrote reality as it should be. 

He but quietly asked to never again be Hythlodaeus of Amaurot, the coward who made other people choose his path. 

* * *

He awoke to sharp agony in a room he had no recollection of ever being in. His entire body convulsed violently as something—no, someone—was telling him to _remember, damn you,_ and all he could do in this all too small and unfamiliar body was writhe in agony. He heard a voice that must have been his own beg for mercy as he violently tried to let go of this body that clearly was not _his, why was he in a different boy, why was he alive—_

“No, please, stop!”

This other voice that clearly was his yet was not retched and an unfamiliar hand clawed at the wall, and Hythlodaeus _writhed,_ tried to yank himself away from that poor person he had no intention of causing any more trouble—but he could not remove himself from their soul. The more he pulled the more it tore, the hotter the memories of Amaurot came pouring back into him, all while Lahabrea— _yes, that was Lahabrea!—_ continued kicking him about and commanded him to remember. 

He remembered, yes, but this other person clutched their head and screamed at the aeons of memories that Hythlodaeus held—he in turn saw their short life, barely more than a child going by Amaurotine time measurement but _they were not an Amaurotine, why on earth was he attached to this mortal—_ mortal?—man, why was Lahabrea doing this, why, why, _why why why why why—_

The sharp agony faded, and Hythlodaeus and the mortal along with it. 

* * *

Hythlodaeus didn’t know when or why he became aware of this shard’s surroundings. He did absolutely not want to know, and kept to himself in a dark corner of this man’s conscience. He had no desire to meddle with mortals; his part in this play had been over after he gave the last bits of information on summoning to Persephone. He had made his peace with that. 

Every bit of this mortal’s body ached and burned and even in his secluded corner he could feel the raw despair that this man was battling with. Whatever had happened in this man’s life, truly, it must have been miserable to have him in this position, whatever it was. It was uncomfortable, but Hythlodaeus was not going to superimpose himself upon that mortal just to see how they were going to die this time around. As long as Lahabrea was not around then this mortal would at least be able to peacefully bleed to death or succumb to whatever had him so drained of his energy. 

It wasn’t until complete and utter silence fell over the place and he heard a faint but constant dripping as the mortal’s breath rattled in and out through his mouth that Hythlodaeus even dared moving the slightest. 

“Heh… hehe… I thought I had… imagined that. I thought I had… gone insane at last….”

He had no body. He was in that mortal’s body, but he knew that there was no one else around. There was no one else the man could have been addressing, but Hythlodaeus pretended he had not heard any of that. He did not want to play his part in this. Hythlodaeus crossed his arms and closed his eyes, curling in on himself in this dark corner.

His part was over. 

“How… bold of him to...” A cough that was more wet than anything else, and Hythlodaeus was dimly aware of the copper taste of blood in the mortal’s mouth as he wheezed and hacked for breath. “To send an… Ascian who does not… work with him.”

That was a name he had not heard in a long, long while. He had closed his eyes and ears and every sense he could muster to the world under the lulling lullaby of Hydaelyn while the world broke apart. Truth be told, Hythlodaeus wanted to return back to not existing, merely following the centre part of his shattered soul along. That unfortunate soul he was attached to had no name for him and he had not name for it and he was content that way. Except… except this one had called him…. 

“Ascian?”

Another rattle. It might as well have been a death rattle, but the mortal’s heart still beat surprisingly strong for someone incapable of speaking for more than a handful words at a time. 

“Please… stop trying to mock me.”

Hythlodaeus finally opened his eyes. He did not exist in the living world—but no soul truly did. Indeed, he found himself in an agonisingly familiar room in what must have been a hallucination based on his memories in this space between the living world and the Lifestream—the mortal’s body was hunched over on the ground, held slightly upright by what must have been aetheric shackles of some sort, with blood dripping out of his mouth as he hung there. He immediately recognised the man as a Miqo’te, one of the many races that Hydaelyn had created with Her hands as she distributed the cleanly severed souls across the severed worlds. 

“I am… not mocking you. I know not what it is you speak of, child of Hydaelyn.”

Even now, in this non-corporeal state of being, Hythlodaeus saw a soul—aether, as mortals called it now, and this man’s flashed bright crimson. It was duller than things had been back in Amaurot but such was the state of the world. A solid block of colour like that was rare, and he heard the very distant voice of a child sneer that he had no idea how he had failed to notice a soul like that before. Still, Hythlodaeus had no intention of messing with this mortal for too long. 

“You needn’t speak to answer my questions, Child of Hydaelyn—“

“Exarch. I am not one of Her children.”

“Exarch, then, albeit you very much are one of her countless beloved children. But you and I are of the same body, and for as long as I unfortunately remain conscious we can hear each other’s thoughts.”

The Exarch flattened his drooping ears against his head. “Well then, Servant of Zodiark—“ 

“Hythlodaeus. I most certainly am not one His servants.”

“Hythlodaeus, then—though permit me to not trust that statement for the time being.”

Hythlodaeus shrugged at that, more and more aware of his surroundings being rather frightening the more he paid attention to them. Instead he kept his focus on the red-haired Miqo’te with the stark red eyes in front of him; how strange to know that the only reason he saw colour was because he was this mortal’s unwanted passenger who saw the world the same way he did. “You called me an Ascian; pray tell, enlighten me. What is that?” 

The Exarch was quiet for a few minutes as he sat there, arms in the air and ears flat against his head. He released his tense muscles after those few minutes and a soft laugh shook his mortal body. Hythlodaeus felt every spark of pain and the sickness crashing against the confines of that body as his despair was on the verge of turning into hysteria. He admittedly felt for this man, him being a reflection of his soul completely notwithstanding. 

“To think I get to… spend my failure with… an Ascian. Not even the Ascian… who dragged me here. Hyth… lodaeus, either you are a… terrible comedian, or very bad at lying. An Ascian is a servant of Zodiark… working to usher in the Rejoining.”

Hythlodaeus crossed his arms and closed his eyes. “That answers one question and raises another. But I shall not bore you with idle questions about a world that is not mine—which Ascian brought you here?” 

The Exarch must have felt the nervous energy emanating off him, because the man tugged at his restraints weakly and shook his head a little too furiously for someone struggling to breathe properly. He looked at that mortal body better, and raised an eyebrow when he noticed the crystal. This mortal, this reflection of him, had somehow managed to turn what seemed like half his body into crystal. It sparkled blue—and doubtlessly also overshadowed the colour of his soul when he was not a hair’s breadth from expiring. 

Then again, his soul still blazed with an unusual ferocity. Perhaps he was not as close to dying as that accursed mortal flesh felt like even through Hythlodaeus plain refusing to waste more thoughts than necessary on it. He was not going to let the same thing happen again even if Lahabrea came bursting in right now to force the Exarch to remember. Since he was already aware, perhaps he could fend off accidentally pouring all his memories and sorrows into a vessel not made for this this time around. 

“Emet-Selch.”

That one name was enough to send Hythlodaeus crashing back into reality with the ferocity of a falling star. The Exarch was bleeding, left alone in a room where magical shackles kept him bound with his weapon just out of reach—a room that looked like one of many in Amaurot. Hythlodaeus turned to look out of a window, and considering the way the Exarch winced he felt that jolt of cold horror that went through Hythlodaeus for a moment. He very quickly chastised himself for letting his emotions through like that, then shook his head. 

The aether from the Lifestream that Emet-Selch had misappropriated to fabricate this fancy illusion shone with black, black, black. It was woven into everything, created stone out of nothing and raised spires that had long since collapsed towards the water surface. He had no idea how much time had passed given that he had not been aware for however many mortal instants had come and gone while he enjoyed the vast emptiness of not existing as a tangible existence any longer. But this recreation that shimmered and glowed under the sea was more than what he ever wanted to know. 

“I… do not remember the Architect treating his guests like that.”

A dry laugh. The Miqo’te raised his head with a surprisingly empty expression on his face. “And war trophies?” 

Hythlodaeus blinked. “There were no—Exarch, what on earth are you talking about?” 

The lively red soul flickered in irritation while the Exarch’s blank expression barely changed. What gave his annoyance away were his ears, twitching back with a ferocity that almost made Hythlodaeus wish he could leave this poor man alone to die in peace. 

“Very well, Hythlodaeus, I suppose at this point you leave me no choice but to... believe your claims. You are no Ascian—but what are you, then?”

“A coward,” he flatly replied immediately, and the Exarch shook his head slowly. Hythlodaeus shrugged again and turned back to the window. “An unpleasant surprise, given that I should not be aware at all. That is what Hydaelyn promised us. Alas, something called me back for a reason, and hearing you say who put you into this situation, I think I am beginning to understand. What a sick joke.”

The Exarch’s ears perked up a little at that, then a shadow fell over his face as his mind caught up. Hythlodaeus heard his racing thoughts single down one word, repeating it over and over until finally he looked back up once more and he mouthed “You are from before the Sundering”. 

It was not a question, and Hythlodaeus did not deign it with an answer because the answer was obvious to the Exarch’s rapidly and loudly beating heart. 

“You are… you are who I used to be.”

Hythlodaeus grimaced and moved his hands to remove the mask that was part of his appearance no matter what. It was a horrible thing, exposing himself to a perfect stranger like the Exarch, but it had to be done. Indeed, looking at the Exarch there were some similarities here and there—the most striking thing the bright red eyes that looked as if they did not belong onto a living being. 

“Look at me, Exarch. I am not you. You are not me. Considering that you know about ‘before’ when by all rights you should not, I assume that _Emet-Selch_ spoke to you for some reason or another. But knowing that we started as one does not make us one now. I have no intention of wresting control of _your_ body—mine is long gone. I have no desire to spend even a moment longer conscious and awake and aware and invading your space like this. Whatever an Ascian does that made you assume I am one, I want nothing of it. I was content not existing, and whatever brought me back had best be silenced post-haste.”

The Exarch exhaled slowly through his nose. “I assume… my failure to die when the time came roused you… and for that I apologise.” 

“Elaborate.”

Just the fact that the Exarch complied and started telling his story was enough to make Hythlodaeus stagger. It was clear that this man had nothing but contempt for an Amaurotian—Ascian as he called them—but what Hythlodaeus heard was perhaps one of the most heartbreaking stories he had ever heard in his life. So much hope and despair, all pushed on his shoulders and he had tried to finish the impossible climb. Even when all seemed lost he had pushed on and on, through the ruins of a once-familiar world the same world that Hythlodaeus had not been able to. Rather than giving up he pushed on and on and _on_ until only the tower remained in a world that was not his and would never be his. And rather than giving up, he raised his hands to build a foundation of hope in a world on the brink of despair. He calmed the empty void in his chest and marched on, even as he had to face the consequences for his hurried decision-making. 

Hythlodaeus had sat down by the time the Exarch finished with his head hanging down once again, guilt and regret and fear making his soul go from vibrant crimson to the colour of an angry bruise. He knew that reaching out in this incorporeal state was pointless as his hands would have gone right through the Exarch, but he still tried at the very least. 

“And now all I can do is wait until this world falls to Ascian machinations and all the souls I tried to save will die regardless—there is no way in all seven hells that Emet-Selch will let me die on my own terms.”

That one sentence was enough to have Hythlodaeus cross his arms and squeeze his eyes shut with a pained expression, and that movement was enough to pique the Exarch’s attention even through the resignation that was seeping through the both of them. Hythlodaeus considered not answering the unspoken question that he felt, but it would have been incredibly unfair to this man who had the unfortunate luck of being aware of his presence. 

“We… used to be friends once, Emet-Selch and I,” he sighed after a moment of hesitation.

The Exarch narrowed his eyes and nodded, the disgust he did not voice apparent in the way his soul churned. 

“But hearing you say that you but await a death that he refuses to grant you, I understand that the man I _knew_ died during the events that saw our city burn and Zodiark rise from fervent prayer and despair.”

“A… familiar story for those of the Source. Fervent prayer and despair gives… rise to Primals. Primals that consume… the minds of those that summon them, thus creating an endless… cycle. The aether they consume… is returned whenever people rise to slay them, and then they are… called back. It begins anew with new desperate plea… anew with a prayer.”

Hythlodaeus was not sure what to answer to that, but the Exarch seemed content with knowing that it was the same no matter what. What his vision caught next in this intricate net of aether that pulsed with darkness was… a familiar pitch black soul vibrating in the distance. He was doing something, and about to return here and Hythlodaeus nearly feared that Emet-Selch would see him. Yet at the same time, somewhere in the further distance, outside of this recreation of an Amaurot of days bygone, something positively bursting with light was approaching. 

The Exarch sighed and stepped aside to let Hythlodaeus see through his eyes just in time for a dark vortex to form in front of them and for Emet-Selch to step through. 

It was like a punch to the face, seeing that haggard mortal face and the absolute emptiness in them even as Emet-Selch kicked the Exarch’s body to wake the mortal. Hythlodaeus quietly asked if he should step aside, but the Exarch quietly said that perhaps Hythlodaeus wanted some words with him before inevitably his mortal body gave in and he died, sweeping the two of them back into the Lifestream and back into Hydaelyn’s cold but loving embrace. 

“Alas, it would seem your time is up.” Hells, even that voice was like sandpaper to his awareness. All wrong and empty and dangerous, laced with a hatred that perfectly fit this malcontent creature that had the voice of the most important person that Hythlodaeus had ever had in his life. “Do you have anything to say ‘ere I help your beloved hero turn into the monster they are?”

He raised his head slowly, feeling like a drowning man pulled back onto land as a body not his own answered him. The pain was numb and dull, the fear churning in his stomach entirely his own as the Exarch stepped back from his own body to let Hythlodaeus say his piece. 

The light at the edge of the recreation of Amaurot was churning, volatile and crashing against the restraints of the soul that had attempted to hold it in. There was light that was not as horrible to behold, neatly fit into the soul below all of that as it strained and strained and was on the verge of breaking entirely. He caught a glimpse of familiar iridescent, and he swore if he were not already dead to begin with he would have truly wished for death seeing this. 

“It’s breaking.” Emet-Selch’s blank eyes widened as he stiffened all of a sudden, and Hythlodaeus realised that he did not remember why and how these words were affecting him. Hades was dead, and even the Emet-Selch he had known after the final days was _gone._ Persephone’s soul continued straining under the flood of light it had attempted to withhold, and even the Exarch gasped at the utter agony that shot through Hythlodaeus as he looked at Emet-Selch.“What have you done?”

He did not expect Emet-Selch to drop to his knees and roughly force him to look up. The restraints came undone and the entire mortal body that felt wrong because it was not his sacked forwards a little as he fought back a groan. He sat there, limbs numb and useless as Emet-Selch likely tried to understand why he was so affected by these words. 

“Oh, had I but stopped you. Had I but stopped them.”

Finally, recognition shot through Emet-Selch at that, and Hythlodaeus so very desperately wanted to shriek his regret at both aiding and not aiding both Hades and Persephone here at the bottom of the sea in a world he did not know the name of. He but wanted to return to the quiet solitude of not existing as those pieces of his souls were reborn time and time again to live again, to not have the same regrets that he was with after all this time. He wanted the sweet embrace of nothing as his memories faded like a long dream. Somewhere in the back of their currently shared body, the Exarch fought back the urge to sob. 

“Had I but borne the title, perhaps it would have… never….”

Would he be Emet-Selch, backing away from the mortal whose energy left him, fleeing into the dark not understanding why this was happening? Would he have died in the Final Days of Amaurot, would the bird have simply killed him and then moved on? There was no way of knowing, but he very desperately either wanted oblivion or the chance to make decisions. The decision to stay at the Bureau of the Architect earlier. The choice of telling Hades about things sooner. The choice… of returning home and leaving Amaurot behind before Mnemosyne ever hooked his claws into his brain, the choice to die together with the rest of his village. Perhaps even together with Hades. 

He wordlessly stepped aside to let the Exarch take back his body and muttered that a soul breaking under an immense amount of light was approaching the city and that perhaps he had best get to his feet to see the conclusion to this story. 

“Is there… even a point?”/p>

Hythlodaeus wanted to say no, there was not. But instead he opened his eyes to stand beside the Exarch, not visible to anything or anyone other than the Miqo’te. 

“That is a decision I cannot make for you. You can accept it and wait for the end here, alone, in a room that means nothing to you and everything to me. You can choose to fight against it, should your body still answer you.”

“What would you choose, then, Hythlodaeus of Amaurot?”

He shook his head, surprised by the smile that wormed its way onto his face as he reached for the mask he had tossed aside. “I made my decision a long time ago, and I regret that my choice was refusing to choose. My head screamed at me that my morals did not align with Emet-Selch any longer, and no matter what it was despicable what they were doing for the sake of Amaurot. Yet perhaps the most traitorous thing of every living being… my heart, it told me to stay, to keep the promise to remain by his side until the end. I did not even get to do that thanks to my refusal to choose. I aided the side of Zodiark as much as I aided the side of Hydaelyn. All I can tell you is that it is not my choice. Not my story. It is yours, Exarch. Yours alone. So make sure you do not come to regret your choice, will you?” 

For a moment, the Exarch was quiet. 

Then he strained himself with a long, pained groan as he reached for his staff and struggled back to his feet. 

He was comically short next to Hythlodaeus but he was fairly aglow with a new purpose. 

“Where… where would… Emet-Selch welcome a Warrior of Light?”

“If he has retained his penchant for theatrics even through the darkness that holds him now, the Capitol. Whatever he may have done to that building in this approximation of our beloved home I know not, however. Would you still march there, not knowing if you can even reach the end of that story?”

The Exarch was quiet, his human knuckles turning white as he clutched his staff. Then he turned his head to the side to look at Hythlodaeus properly, and a faint smile appeared on his face. 

“W-won’t… know until I try… as a historian I knew once… would have said.”

* * *

He stopped when in the distance he caught a glimpse of a fire that had haunted him in his worst nightmares after Termination. The Exarch was barely able to keep himself upright in this crude recreation of the end of the world as Hythlodaeus had known it, but none of the recreated monsters and abominations seemed interested in them. They were all filled with a solitary purpose of homing in on that incredible amount of aether that was cracking and breaking and bleeding as the soul below it was slowly but steadily losing its countless colours one by one until naught but empty white would remain. 

Emet-Selch had told him that they had fought a bizarre creature that turned the very skies against the Convocation and the people marching to see the Summoning of Zodiark to an end. The blaze of fire and light told him that Emet-Selch had recreated what he told him about that street where he nearly died. 

He said nothing as he waited beside the Exarch struggling to take another step. 

The Exarch collapsed with a strangled gasp, and a choked sob escaped him as he lay there on the scorched ground that Hythlodaeus knew to be a creation on an intense scale.

He could not offer the Exarch a hand—thus seeing someone else offer the man one startled both of them. 

“Come,” said a voice so eerily familiar to the both of them that it took them a moment to process what was going on. “You are but a stone’s throw away from being able to join the conclusion of this. Alone, our old new friend will surely perish, and then nothing can stop Emet-Selch.”

It was plain bizarre to see himself offer help to the Exarch with a calm smile that Hythlodaeus knew he had adopted around the time Persephone became Mnemosyne. The details were all wrong—this recreation of him looked more like the haggard man teetering between life and death, between Hydaelyn and Zodiark after Termination than anything else. 

“Aren’t you his creation?” The Exarch’s voice was breaking as he was back on his feet.

The shade laughed, too calmly for someone standing in a recreation of the event that truly and utterly ruined his life. 

“That I am indeed, but there are countless ways to butcher a Creation. Worry not, I am not the bird that throws itself against walls screeching both for and against death—I am simply a fortunately unfortunate and unfortunately fortunate creation that was made with a distracted mind. This battle cannot conclude in a meaningful way without the Crystal Exarch present. Beyond this bend, Emet-Selch butchered separation matrices and left a hole to go on through on accident. Should you choose that way, you will most likely arrive at the final thing he created for this battlefield. The very end.”

Hythlodaeus narrowed his eyes and looked at it with his Sight. He knew when something was wrong with separation matrices better than anyone else—after all he was Chief Hythlodaeus of the Bureau of the Architect. Long dead, yes, but his knowledge remained. 

He leaned towards the Exarch. “He speaks true—there is an issue with the separation matrices up ahead, and the error does appear to indeed grant passage to the final stitches on this battlefield canvas.” 

The creation let out a laugh. “Why, thank you for not doubting me.” 

“You… you see me.”

“But of course I do. Once upon a time, we and the Exarch were one and the same. I would be lying if I said your colours did not meld together slightly to my subpar vision, but there is a clear difference. One soul beats with light that severed it—the other has a smudge of darkness that seems like it belongs there in it. Calling you the same would be incredibly rude and reductive. But alas, I ramble; go ahead—you do not have much time.”

With that, the shade turned and vanished, leaving both the Exarch and Hythlodaeus with more questions than answers. But before either of them voiced their confusion a shrill shriek and a dull, hollow tremble went through the Final Days of Amaurot. 

The fires vanished in an instant, and the Exarch breathed out a “No!” before hurrying towards the only way forward. 

Hythlodaeus lagged slightly behind, even going as far as standing aside when the Exarch made his presence known after the Warrior of Light defied all expectations. It was a side of Persephone that many people called their best attribute yet somehow their worst flaw. They did not give up until the bitter end, and even now when faced with Emet-Selch who they clearly did not remember the same way that Hythlodaeus and thus the Exarch did, they refused to budge. 

Then again… then again, the Exarch had made a choice. He had chosen to fight rather than give up—in a sense, he had chosen Hydaelyn over Zodiark in this equation. 

A choice that Hythlodaeus himself had never made, and he closed his eyes with a soft laugh. The Lifestream churned and swirled around them as he watched the very same spectacle that he had beheld so long ago that its details started escaping him now. Countless colours that belonged turned black all around the sorcerer, giving way to a bizarre painting that defied all logic and reason. But even so, individual colours remained even as Hades painted them pitch black, like small coloured stars that blinked on this vast abyss that was Hades’ soul. 

Against that dark stood seven souls woven together with light that he recalled and did not recall—and at the head of that, iridescent that shimmered and glimmered along the light that had been drawn through it. 

Hythlodaeus quietly watched the fight, watched as light struggled against a dark that consumed everything in its path—and broke through. 

He stood beside the Exarch with tears running down his face as violet returned to the shattered pieces of black that barely managed to cling to their form. Convocation robes, and a soul dark and violet that was on the verge of returning to the Underworld. A flicker. A content smile. 

Hythlodaeus closed his eyes and let unawareness of his surroundings take him again. The Exarchhad made his choice and wiped both blood and tears off his face as he said that it was good to be awake. 

He had made his a long time ago. 

And though he was the coward in this equation, he got more than he ever thought he would get as he bade the last piece of Hades farewell. The Exarch would remember. So would the Warrior of Light. 

So would he, even in the event that he never again regained his consciousness as he hoped he would. 

Perhaps, if Hydaelyn permitted, Hades would one day resurface somewhere. And perhaps, Hydaelyn be willing, Hythlodaeus would get to meet him again, in a village by the sea, in a city that gleamed at night, or wherever else She took them. 

**Author's Note:**

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